Ai 


H: 


L 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC 


SKETCHES. 


THOMAS  DE  aUINCEY. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  LIX. 


Entered  acenriinj  to  Act  of  Conerpsa,  in  the  yenr  IHM,  by 
TICKNOR,  HKED,  AXI)    FIELD', 
111  me  Clerl  e    Hii.t  of  the  Distiict  Court  ot  the  Ui^trict  oC  .Massac  hii 


f} 


p 


SELECTIONS, 
GRAVE     AND     GAY, 

FKOM 

WRITINGS  PUBLISHED  AND   UNPUBLISHED, 
ET 

TIIOllAS   DE   aUINCEY. 


EXTKACT    FROM    A    LETTER 

WKITTEN  BY  Mil    DE  QUINCET  TO  TUE  AMEIUCAN  EDITOR 
OF  UIS  WUUKS 


Lasstvade,  January  8,   1853. 

My  dear  Sir: 

I  am  on  the  point  of  revising  and  considerably 
altering,  for  republication  in  England,  an  edition  of 
such  amongst  my  writings  as  it  may  seem  proper 
deliberately  to  avow.  Not  that  I  have  any  inten- 
tion, or  consciously  any  reason,  expressly  to  disown 
any  one  thing  that  I  have  ever  published ;  but  some 
things  have  sufficiently  accomplished  their  purpose 
when  they  have  met  the  call  of  that  particular  tran- 
sient occasion  in  which  they  arose ;  and  others,  it 
may  be  thought  on  review,  might  as  well  have  been 
suppressed    from    the   very  first.     Things    immoral 

5 


6  LETTER    FROM    MR.    DE    QUINCEY. 

Avould  of  course  fall  within  that  category ;  of  these, 
however,  I  cannot  reproach  myself  with  ever  hav- 
ing published  so  much  as  one.  But  even  pure  levi- 
ties, simply  as  such,  and  without  liability  to  any 
worse  objection,  may  happen  to  have  no  justifying 
principle  of  life  within  them ;  and  if,  any  where,  I 
find  such  a  reproach  to  lie  against  a  paper  of  mine, 
that  paper  I  should  wish  to  cancel.  So  that,  upon 
the  whole,  my  new  and  revised  edition  is  likely  to 
differ  by  very  considerable  changes  trom  the  origi- 
nal papers ;  and,  consequently,  to  that  extent  is 
Jikely  to  differ  from  your  existing  Boston  reprint. 
These  changes,  as  sure  to  be  more  or  less  advan- 
tageous to  the  collection,  it  is  my  wish  to  place  at 
your  disposal  as  soon  as  possible,  in  order  that 
you  may  make  what  use  of  them  you  see  fit,  be  it 
little  or  much.  It  may  so  happen  that  the  public 
demand  will  give  you  no  opportunity  for  using  them 
at  all.  I  go  on  therefore  to  mention,  that  over  and 
above  these  changes,  which  may  possibly  strike  you 
as  sometimes  mere  caprices,  pulling  down  in  order 
to  rebuild,  or  turning  squares  into  rotundas,  (dirnit, 
(sdijicat,  mutat  quadrata  rotundis,)  it  is  my  purpose 
to  enlarge  this  edition  by  as  many  new  papers  as  I 


LETTER    FROM    MR.    DE    QUINCEY.  7 

find  available  for  such  a  station.  These  I  am  anx- 
ious to  put  into  the  hands  of  your  house,  and,  so 
far  as  regards  the  U.  S.,  of  your  house  exclusively ; 
not  with  any  view  to  farther  emolument,  but  as  an 
acknowledgment  of  the  services  which  you  have  al- 
ready rendered  me ;  viz.,  first,  in  having  brought  to- 
gether so  widely  scattered  a  collection  —  a  difficulty 
which  in  my  own  hands  by  too  painful  an  experi- 
ence I  had  found  from  nervous  depression  to  be  ab- 
solutely insurmountable ;  secondly,  in  having  made 
me  a  participator  in  the  pecuniary  profits  of  the 
American  edition,  without  solicitation  or  the  shadow 
of  any  expectation  on  my  part,  without  any  legal 
claim  that  I  could  plead,  or  equitable  warrant  in 
established  usage,  solely  and  merely  upon  your  own 
spontaneous  motion.  Some  of  these  new  papers,  I 
hope,  will  not  be  without  their  value  in  the  eyes  of 
those  who  have  taken  an  interest  in  the  original  se- 
ries. But  at  all  events,  good  or  bad,  they  are  now 
tendered  to  the  appropriation  of  your  individual 
house,  the  Messrs.  Ticknor,  Reed,  &  Fields,  accord- 
ing to  the  amplest  extent  of  any  power  to  make 
such  a  transfer  that  I  may  be  found  to  possess  by 
law  or  custom   in  America. 


8  LETTER    FROM    MR.    DE    QUINCEY, 

I  wish  this  transfer  were  likely  to  be  of  more 
value.  But  the  veriest  trifle,  interpreted  by  the 
spirit  in  which  1  offer  it,  may  express  my  sense  of 
the  liberality  manifested  throughout  this  transac- 
tion by  your  honorable  house. 

Ever  believe  me,  my  dear  sir. 

Your  faithful  and  obliged, 

THOMAS   DE   QUINCEY. 


PREFACE 


THE    ENGLISH    EDITION. 


The  miscellaneous  writings  which  I  propose  to 
lay  before  the  public  in  this  body  of  selections  are 
in  part  to  be  regarded  as  a  republication  of  papers 
scattered  through  several  British  journals  twenty  or 
thirty  years  ago,  which  papers  have  been  reprinted 
in  a  collective  form  by  an  American  house  of  high 
character  in  Boston  ;  but  in  part  they  are  to  be 
viewed  as  entirely  new,  large  sections  having  been 
intercalated  in  the  present  edition,  and  other  changes 
made,  which,  even  to  the  old  parts,  by  giving  very 
great  expansion,  give  sometimes  a  character  of  ab- 
solute novelty.  Once,  therefore,  at  home,  with  the 
allowance  for  the  changes  here  indicated,  and  once 
in  America,  it  may  be  said  that  these  writings  have 
been  in  some  sense  published.  But  publicatiun  is  a 
great  idea  never  even   approximated  by  the  utmost 

9 


10  PREFACE. 

anxieties  of  man.  Not  the  Bible,  not  the  little 
book  which,  in  past  times,  came  next  to  the  Bible  in 
European  diffusion  and  currency,*  viz.,  the  treatise 
"  De  Imitatione  Christi,"  has  yet  in  any  generation 
been  really  published.  Where  is  the  printed  book 
of  which,  in  Coleridge's  words,  it  may  not  be  said 
that,  after  all  efforts  to  publish  itself,  still  it  remains, 
for  the  world  of  possible  readers,  "  as  good  as  man- 
uscript" ?  Not  to  insist,  however,  upon  any  ro- 
mantic rigor  in  constructing  this  idea,  and  abiding 
by  the  ordinary  standard  of  what  is  understood  by 
publication^  it  is  probable  that,  in  many  cases,  my 
own  papers  must  have  failed  in  reaching  even  this. 
For  they  were  printed  as  contributions  to  journals. 

*  "  Next  to  the  Bible  in  currenaj."  —  Tliat  is,  next  iu  the  fifteenth 
century  to  the  Bible  of  the  nineteenth  century.  The  diffusion  of 
the  "  De  Imitatione  Christi"  over  Chi'istendom  (the  idea  of  Chris- 
tendom, it  must  be  remembered,  not  then  including  any  part  of 
America)  anticipated,  in  1453,  the  diffusion  of  the  Bible  in  18o3. 
But  why  ?  Thi-ough  what  causes  ?  Elsewhere  I  have  attempted 
to  show  that  this  enormous  (and  seemingly  incredible)  pojDularity 
of  the  "  De  Imitatione  Christi"  is  virtually  to  be  interpreted  as 
a  vicarious  popularity  of  the  Bible.  At  that  time  the  Bible  itself 
was  a  fountain  of  insjjired  truth  every  where  sealed  up  ;  but  a  whis- 
per ran  through  the  Avestern  nations  of  Europe  that  the  work  of 
Thomas  a  Kempis  contained  some  slender  rivulets  of  truth  silently 
stealing  away  into  light  fi-om  that  interdicted  fountain.  This  be- 
lief (so  at  least  I  read  the  case)  led  to  the  prodigious  multiplication 
of  the  book,  of  which  not  merely  the  reimpressions,  but  the  sepa- 
rate translations,  are  past  all  counting  ;  though  bibhographers  hare 
undertaken  to  count  them.  The  book  came  forward  as  an  answer 
to  the  sighing  of  Christian  Europe  for  light  from  heaven.  I  speak 
of  Thomas  a  Kempis  as  the  author ;  but  his  claim  was  disputed. 
Gerson  was  adopted  by  France  as  the  author  ;  and  other  local 
saints  by  other  nations. 


PREFACE.  11 

Now,  that  mode  of  publication  is  unavoidably  dis- 
advantageous to  a  writer,  except  under  unusual 
conditions.  By  its  harsh  peremptory  punctuality,  it 
drives  a  man  into  hurried  writing,  possibly  into 
saying  the  thing  that  is  not.  They  won't  wait  an 
hour  tor  you  in  a  magazine  or  a  review  ;  they  won't 
wait  for  truth  ;  you  may  as  well  reason  with  the  sea, 
or  a  railway  train,  as  in  such  a  case  with  an  edit- 
or ;  and,  as  it  makes  no  difference  whether  that  sea 
which  you  desire  to  argue  with  is  the  Mediterranean 
or  the  Baltic,  so,  with  that  editor  and  his  deafness,  it 
matters  not  a  straw  whether  he  belong  to  a  northern 
or  a  southern  journal.  Here  is  one  evil  of  journal 
writing  —  viz.,  its  overmastering  precipitation.  A 
second  is,  its  effect  at  times  in  narrowing  your 
publicity.  Every  journal,  or  pretty  nearly  so,  is  un- 
derstood to  hold  (perhaps  in  its  very  title  it  makes 
proclamation  of  holding)  certain  fixed  principles  in 
politics,  or  possibly  religion.  These  distinguish- 
ing features,  which  become  badges  of  enmity  and 
intolerance,  all  the  more  intense  as  they  descend 
upon  narrower  and  narrower  grounds  of  separation, 
must,  at  the  very  threshold,  by  warning  off  those 
who  dissent  from  them,  so  far  operate  to  limit  your 
audience.  To  take  my  own  case  as  an  illustration  : 
these  present  sketches  were  published  in  a  journal 
dedicated  to  purposes  of  political  change  such  as 
many  people  thought  revolutionary.  I  thought  so 
myself,  and  did  not  go  along  with  its  politics.  Inev- 
itably that  accident  shut  them  out  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  very  large  reading  class.  Undoubtedly 
this  journal,  being   ably  and  conscientiously  con- 


12  PREFACE. 

ducted,  had  some  circulation  amongst  a  neutral  class 
of  readers  ;  and  amongst  its  own  class  it  was  popu- 
lar. But  its  own  class  did  not  ordinarily  occupy 
that  position  in  regard  to  social  influence  which 
could  enable  them  rapidly  to  diffuse  the  knowledge 
of  a  writer.  A  reader  whose  social  standing  is 
moderate  may  communicate  his  views  upon  a  book 
or  a  writer  to  his  own  circle ;  but  his  own  circle  is  a 
narrow  one.  Whereas,  in  aristocratic  classes,  having 
more  leisure  and  wealth,  the  intercourse  is  incon- 
ceivably more  rapid  ;  so  that  the  publication  of  any 
book  which  interests  them  is  secured  at  once  ;  and 
this  publishing  influence  passes  downwards;  but 
rare,  indeed,  is  the  inverse  process  of  publication 
through  an  influence  spreading  upwards. 

According  to  the  way  here  described,  the  papers 
now  presented  to  the  public,  like  many  another  set 
of  papers  nominally  published,  were  not  so  in  any 
substantial  sense.  Here,  at  home,  they  may  be 
regarded  as  still  unpublished.*     But,  in  such  a  case, 


*  At  the  same  time  it  must  not  be  denied,  that,  if  you  lose  by  a 
journal  in  the  Avay  here  de:>cribed,  you  also  gain  by  it.  The  joiu"- 
iial  gives  you  the  benefit  of  its  own  separate  audience,  that  might 
else  never  have  heard  your  name.  On  the  other  hand,  in  such  a 
case,  the  joiurnal  secures  to  you  the  special  enmity  of  its  own  pe- 
culiar antagonists.  These  papers,  for  instance,  of  mhie,  not  being 
poUtical,  were  read  possibly  in  a  friendly  temper  by  the  regular 
supporters  of  the  journal  that  pubUshed  them.  But  some  of  my 
own  political  friends  regarded  me  with  displeasure  for  connecting 
myself  at  all  with  a  reforming  journal.  And  far  more,  who  would 
have  been  liberal  enough  to  disregard  that  objection,  naturally  lost 
eight  of  me  when  under  occultation  to  tliein  in  a  joiu'ual  wliich 
thev  never  saw. 


PREFACE.  13 

why  were  not  the  papers  at  once  detached  from  the 
journal,  and  reprinted  ?  In  the  neglect  to  do  this, 
some  there  are  who  will  read  a  blamable  carelessness 
in  the  author ;  but,  in  that  carelessness,  others  will 
read  a  secret  consciousness  that  the  papers  were  of 
doubtful  value.  I  have  heard,  indeed,  that  some 
persons,  hearing  of  this  republication,  had  inter- 
preted the  case  thns  :  Within  the  last  four  or  five 
years,  a  practice  has  arisen  amongst  authors  of 
gathering  together  into  volumes  their  own  scattered 
contributions  to  periodical  literature.  Upon  that 
suggestion,  they  suppose  me  suddenly  to  have  re- 
membered that  I  also  had  made  such  contributions  ; 
that  mine  might  be  entitled  to  their  chance  as  well 
as  those  of  others  ;  and,  accordingly,  that  on  such  a 
slight  invitation  ab  extra.,  I  had  called  back  into 
life  what  otherwise  I  had  long  since  regarded  as 
having  already  fulfilled  its  mission,  and  must  doubt- 
less have  dismissed  to  oblivion. 

1  do  not  certainly  know,  or  entirely  believe,  that 
any  such  thing  was  really  said.  But,  however  that 
may  be,  no  representation  can  be  more  opposed  to 
the  facts.  Never  for  an  instant  did  I  falter  in  my 
purpose  of  republishing  most  of  the  papers  which  I 
had  written.  Neither,  if  I  myself  had  been  inclined 
to  forget  them,  should  I  have  been  allowed  to  do  so 
by  strangers.  For  it  happens  that,  dm'ing  the  four- 
teen last  years,  I  have  received  from  many  quarters 
in  England,  in  Ireland,  in  the  British  colonies, 
and  in  the  United  States,  a  series  of  letters  express- 
ing a  far  profounder  interest  in  papprs  written  by 
myself  than  any  which  I  could  ever  think  myself 


14 


PREFACE. 


entitled  to  look  for.  Had  I,  therefore,  otherwise  cher- 
ished no  purposes  of  republication,  it  now  became 
a  duty  of  gratitude  and  respect  to  these  numerous 
correspondents,  that  I  should  either  republish  the 
papers  in  question,  or  explain  why  1  did  not.  The 
obstacle  in  fact  had  been  in  part  the  shifting  state 
of  the  law  which  regulated  literary  property,  and 
especially  the  property  in  periodical  literature.  But 
a  far  greater  difficulty  lay  in  the  labor  (absolutely 
insurmountable  to  myself)  of  bringing  together  from 
so  many  quarters  the  scattered  materials  of  the  col- 
lection. This  labor,  most  fortunately,  was  suddenly 
taken  off  my  hands  by  the  eminent  house  of  Messrs 
TiCKNOR,  Reed,  &  Fields,  Boston,  U.  S.  To  them 
T  owe  my  acknowledgments,  first  of  all,  for  that  ser- 
vice :  they  have  brought  together  a  great  majority 
of  my  fugitive  papers  in  a  series  of  volumes  now 
amounting  to  twelve.  And,  secondly,  I  am  bound 
to  mention  that  they  have  made  me  a  sharer  in  the 
])rofits  of  the  publication,  called  upon  to  do  so  by 
no  law  whatever,  and  assuredly  by  no  expectation 
of  that  sort  upon  my  part. 

Taking  as  the  basis  of  my  remarks  this  collective 
American  edition,  I  will  here  attempt  a  rude  general 
classification  of  all  the  articles  which  compose  it. 
I  distribute  them  grossly  into  three  classes :  First., 
into  that  class  which  proposes  primarily  to  amuse 
the  reader ;  but  which,  in  doing  so,  may  or  may  not 
happen  occasionally  to  reach  a  higher  station,  at 
which  the  amusement  passes  into  an  impassioned 
interest.  Some  papers  are  merely  playful ;  but 
others  have  a  mixed  character.     These  present  Auto- 


PREFACE.  15 

biographic  Sketches  illustrate  what  I  mean.  Gen- 
erally, they  pretend  to  little  beyond  that  sort  of 
amusement  which  attaches  to  any  real  story,  thought- 
fully and  faithfully  related,  moving  through  a  suc- 
cession of  scenes  sufficiently  varied,  that  are  not 
su tiered  to  remain  too  long  upon  the  eye,  and  that 
connect  themselves  at  every  stage  with  intellectual 
objects.  But,  even  here,  1  do  not  scruple  to  claim 
from  the  reader,  occasionally,  a  higher  consideration. 
At  times,  the  narrative  rises  into  a  far  higher  key. 
Most  of  all  it  does  so  at  a  period  of  the  writer's  life 
where,  of  necessity,  a  severe  abstraction  takes  place 
from  all  that  could  invest  him  with  any  alien  interest ; 
no  display  that  might  dazzle  the  reader,  nor  ambi- 
tion that  could  carry  his  eye  forward  with  curiosity 
to  the  future,  nor  successes,  fixing  his  eye  on  the 
present ;  nothing  on  the  stage  but  a  solitary  infant, 
and  its  solitary  combat  with  grief —  a  mighty  dark- 
ness, and  a  sorrow  without  a  voice.  But  something 
of  the  same  interest  will  be  found,  perhaps,  to  re- 
kindle at  a  maturer  age,  when  the  characteristic 
features  of  the  individual  mind  have  been  unfolded. 
And  I  contend  that  much  more  than  amusement 
ought  to  settle  upon  any  narrative  of  a  life  that  is 
really  confidential.  It  is  singular —  but  many  of  my 
readers  will  know  it  for  a  truth  —  that  vast  numbers 
of  people,  though  liberated  from  all  reasonable 
motives  to  self-restraint,  cannot  be  confidential  — 
have  it  not  in  their  power  to  lay  aside  reserve ;  and 
many,  again,  cannot  be  so  with  particular  people. 
I  have  witnessed  more  than  once  the  case,  that  a 


16  PREFACE. 

young  female  dancer,  at  a  certain  turn  of  a  peculiar 
dance,  could  not  —  though  she  had  died  for  it — sus- 
tain a  free,  fluent  motion.  Aerial  chains  fell  upon 
her  at  one  point;  some  invisible  spell  (who  could  say 
what  ?)  froze  her  elasticity.  Even  as  a  horse,  at 
noonday  on  an  open  heath,  starts  aside  from  some- 
thing his  rider  cannot  see  ;  or  as  the  flame  within  a 
Davy  lamp  feeds  upon  the  poisonous  gas  up  to  the 
meshes  that  surround  it,  but  there  suddenly  is  arrest- 
ed by  barriers  that  no  Aladdin  will  ever  dislodge.  It 
is  because  a  man  cannot  see  and  measure  these  mys- 
tical forces  which  palsy  him,  that  he  cannot  deal 
with  them  efl'ectually.  If  he  were  able  really  to 
pierce  the  haze  which  so  often  envelops,  even  to 
himself,  his  own  secret  springs  of  action  and  re- 
serve, there  cannot  be  a  life  moving  at  all  under  in- 
tellectual impulses  that  would  not,  through  that 
single  force  of  absolute  frankness,  fall  within  the 
reach  of  a  deep,  solemn,  and  sometimes  even  of  a 
thrilling  interest.  Without  pretending  to  an  interest 
of  this  quality,  I  have  done  what  was  possible  on  my 
part  towards  the  readiest  access  to  such  an  interest 
by  perfect  sincerity  —  saying  every  where  nothing 
but  the  truth  ;  and  in  any  case  forbearing  to  say 
the  ivhole  truth  only  through  consideration  for 
others. 

Into  the  second  class  I  throw  those  papers  which 
address  themselves  purely  to  the  understanding  as 
an  insulated  faculty  ;  or  do  so  primarily.  Let  me  call 
ihem  by  the  general  name  of  Essays.  These,  as  in 
other  cases  of  the  same  kind,  must  have  their  value 


PREFACE.  17 

measured  by  two  separate  questions.  A.  "What 
is  the  problem,  and  of  what  rank  in  dignity  or  in 
use,  which  the  essay  undertakes  ?  And  next, 
that  point  being  settled,  B.  What  is  the  success 
obtained  ?  and  (as  a  separate  question)  what  is  the 
executive  ability  displayed  in  the  solution  of  the 
problem  ?  This  latter  question  is  naturally  no  ques- 
tion for  myself,  as  the  answer  would  involve  a  ver- 
dict upon  my  own  merit.  But,  generally,  there  will 
be  quite  enough  in  the  answer  to  (question  A  for 
establishing  the  value  of  any  essay  on  its  soundest 
basis.  Pnnlens  interrog-atio  est  dimidium  sciential. 
Skilfully  to  frame  your  question,  is  half  way  to- 
wards insuring  the  true  answer.  Two  or  three  of 
the  problems  treated  in  these  essays  1  will  here  re- 
hearse. 

1.  EssENisM.  —  The  essay  on  this,  where  mention- 
ed at  all  in  print,  has  been  mentioned  as  dealing 
with  a  question  of  pure  speculative  curiosity :  so 
little  suspicion  is  abroad  of  that  real  question  which 
lies  below.  Essenism  means  simply  this  —  Christi- 
anity before  Christ,  and  consequently  without  Christ. 
]f,  therefore,  Essenism  could  make  good  its  preten- 
sions, there  at  one  blow  would  be  an  end  of  Chris- 
tianity, wiiich  in  that  case  is  not  only  superseded 
as  an  idle  repetition  of  a  religious  system  already 
published,  but  also  as  a  criminal  plagiarism.  Nor 
can  the  wit  of  man  evade  that  conclusion.  But 
even  that  is  not  the  worst.  When  we  contemplate 
the  total  orb  of  Christianity,  we  see  it  divide  into 
two  hemispheres  :  first,  an  ethical  system,  differing 
centrally  from  any  previously  made  known  to  man 
2 


18 


PREFACE. 


secondly,  a  mysterious  and  divine  machinery  for 
reconciling  man  to  God  ;  a  teaching  to  be  taught, 
but  also  a  work  to  be  worked.  Now,  the  first  we 
find  again  in  the  ethics  of  the  counterfeit  Essenes  — 
which  ought  not  to  surprise  us  at  all ;  since  it  is 
surely  an  easy  thing  for  him  who  pillages  my 
thoughts  ad  libitum  to  i-eproduce  a  perfect  resem- 
blance in  his  own :  *  but  what  has  become  of  the 
second,  viz.,  not  the  teaching,  but  the  operative 
working  of  Christianity?  The  ethical  system  is  re- 
placed by  a  stolen  system  ;  but  what  replaces  the 
i.iysterious  agencies  of  the  Christian  faith  ?  In  Es- 
senism  we  find  again  a  saintly  scheme  of  ethics ; 
but  where  is  the  scheme  of  mediation  ? 

In  the  Romish  church,  there  have  been  some 
theologians  who  have  also  seen  reason  to  suspect 
the  romance  of  "  Essenismus."  And  I  am  not 
sure  that  the  knowledge  of  this  fact  may  not  have 
operated  to  blunt  the  suspicions  of  the  Protestant 
churches.  I  do  not  mean  that  such  a  fact  would 
have  absolutely  deafened  Protestant  ears  to  the 
grounds  of  suspicion  when  loudly  proclaimed  ;  but 
it  is  very  likely  to  have  indisposed  them  towards 
listening.  Meantime,  so  far  as  I  am  acquainted 
with  these  Roman  Catholic  demurs,  the  difference 
between  them  and  my  own  is  broad.     They,  with- 

*  The  crime  of  Josephus  in  relation  to  Clu-isf'.anity  is  the  same, 
in  faci-,  as  that  of  Lauder  in  respect  to  Milton.  It  was  easy  enough 
to  detect  plagiarisms  in  the  •'  Paradise  Lost  "  from  Latin  passages 
fathered  upon  imaginary  ■writers,  when  these  passages  had  previous- 
1}'  been  forged  by  Lauder  himself  for  the  purpose  of  sustaining 
such  a  charge. 


PREFACE.  19 

out  suspecting  any  subtle,  fraudulent  purpose,  simply 
recoil  from  the  romantic  air  of  such  a  statement  — 
which  builds  up,  as  with  an  enchanter's  wand,  an 
important  sect,  such  as  could  not  possibly  have  es- 
caped the  notice  of  Christ  and  his  apostles.  I,  on 
the  other  hand,  insist  not  only  upon  the  revolting 
incompatibility  of  such  a  sect  with  the  absence  of 
all  attention  to  it  in  the  New  Testament,  but  (which 
is  far  more  important)  the  incompatibility  of  snch 
a  sect  (us  a  sect  elder  than  Christ)  with  the  original- 
ity and  heavenly  revelation  of  Christianity.  Here 
is  my  first  point  of  difference  from  the  Romish  ob- 
jectors. The  second  is  this  :  not  content  with  ex- 
posing the  imposture,  I  go  on,  and  attempt  to  show 
in  what  real  circumstances,  fraudulently  disguised, 
it  might  naturally  have  arisen.  In  the  real  circum- 
stances of  the  Christian  church,  when  struggling 
with  Jewish  persecution  at  some  period  of  the  gen- 
eration between  the  crucifixion  and  the  siege  of 
Jerusalem,  arose  probably  that  secret  defensive  soci- 
ety of  Christians  which  suggested  to  Josephus  his 
knavish  forgery.  We  must  remember  that  Jose- 
phus did  not  write  until  after  the  great  ruins  effected 
by  the  siege ;  that  he  wrote  at  Rome,  far  removed 
from  the  criticism  of  those  survivors  who  could  have 
exposed,  or  had  a  motive  for  exposing,  his  malicious 
frauds ;  and,  finally,  that  he  wrote  under  the  patron- 
age of  the  Flavian  family  :  by  his  sycophancy  he 
had  won  their  protection,  which  would  have  over- 
awed any  Christian  whatever  from  coming  forward 
to  unmask  him,  in  the  very  improbable  case  of  a 
work  so  large,  costly,  and,  by  its  title,  merely  archse- 


20  PREFACE. 

ological,  finding   its  way,  at   such    a   period,  into 
the  hands  of  any  poor  hunted  Chriistian.* 

2.  The  Cjesars.  —  This,  though  written  hastily, 
and  in  a  situation  where  I  had  no  aid  from  books, 
is  yet  far  from  being  what  some  people  have  sup- 
posed it  —  a  simple  recapitulation,  or  resume,  of  the 
Roman  imperatorial  history.  It  moves  rapidly  over 
the  ground,  but  still  with  an  exploring  eye,  carried 
right  and  left  into  the  deep  shades  that  have  gath- 
ered so  thickly  over  the  one  solitary  road  f  travers- 
ing that  part  of  history.  Glimpses  of  moral  truth,  or 
suggestions  of  what  may  lead  to  it ;  indications  of 
neglected  difficulties,  and  occasionally  conjectural 
solutions  of  such  difficulties,  —  these  are  what  this 
essay  offers.  It  was  meant  as  a  specimen  of  fruits, 
gathered  hastily  and  without  effort,  by  a  vagrant 
but  thoughtful  mind  :  through  the  coercion  of  its 
theme,  sometimes  it  became  ambitious  ;  but  I  did 
not  give  to  it  an  ambitious  title.  Still  I  felt  that 
the  meanest  of  these   suggestions  meritt^d  a  valua- 


*  It  is  a  significant  fact,  that  Dr.  Strauss,  whose  sceptical  spirit, 
left  to  its  o-rni  disinterested  motions,  would  have  looked  through 
and  through  this  monstrous  fable  of  Essenism,  coolly  adopted  it, 
no  questions  asked,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  the  value  of  it  as  an 
argument  against  Christianity. 

t  "  Solitary  road."  —  The  reader  must  remember  that,  until  the 
seventh  century  of  our  era,  when  ^lahometanism  arose,  there  was 
no  collateral  history.  "Why  there  was  none,  why  no  Gothic,  why  no 
Parthian  history,  it  is  for  Rome  to  explain.  We  tax  ourselves,  and 
are  taxed  by  others,  with  many  an  imaginary  neglect  as  regards 
India ;  but  assuredly  we  cannot  be  taxed  with  that  neglect.  No 
part  of  our  Indian  empu-e,  or  of  its  adjacencies,  but  has  occupied 
the  researches  of  our  Oriental  scholars. 


PREFACE.  21 

tion  :  derelicts  they  were,  not  in  the  sense  of  things 
wilfully  abandoned  by  ray  predecessors  on  that  road, 
but  in  the  sense  of  things  blindly  overlooked.  And, 
summing  up  in  one  word  the  pretensions  of  this 
particular  essay,  I  will  venture  to  claim  for  it  so 
much,  at  least,  of  originality  as  ought  not  to  have 
been  left  open  to  any  body  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. 

3.  Cicero. —  This  is  not,  as  might  be  imagined, 
any  literary  valuation  of  Cicero  ;  it  is  a  new  read- 
ing of  Roman  history  in  the  most  dreadful  and  com- 
prehensive of  her  convulsions,  in  that  final  stage  of 
her  transmutations  to  which  Cicero  was  himself  a 
j>arty  —  and,  as  I  maintain,  a  most  selfish  and  un- 
patriotic party.  He  was  governed  in  one  half  by 
his  own  private  interest  as  a  novus  homo  dependent 
upon  a  wicked  oligarchy,  and  in  the  other  half  by 
his  blind  hatred  of  Caesar  ;  the  grandeur  of  whose 
nature  he  could  not  comprehend,  and  the  real  pa- 
triotism of  whose  policy  could  never  be  appreciated 
by  one  bribed  to  a  selfish  course.  The  great  mob 
of  historians  have  but  one  way  of  constructing  the 
great  events  of  this  era  —  they  succeed  to  it  as  to 
an  inheritance,  and  chiefly  under  the  misleading  of 
that  prestige  which  is  attached  to  the  name  of 
Cicero ;  on  which  account  it  was  that  I  gave  this 
title  to  my  essay.  Seven  years  after  it  was  pub- 
lished, this  essay,  slight  and  imperfectly  developed 
as  is  the  exposition  of  its  parts,  began  to  receive 
some  public  countenance. 

I  was  going  on  to  abstract  the  principle  involved 
in  some  other  essays.     But  I  forbear.     These  sped- 


22  PREFACE. 

mens  are  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  informing  the 
reader  that  I  do  not  write  without  a  thoughtful 
consideration  of  my  subject;  and  also,  that  to 
think  reasonably  upon  any  question  has  never  been 
allowed  by  me  as  a  sufficient  ground  for  writing 
upon  it,  unless  I  believed  myself  able  to  offer  some 
considerable  novelty.  Generally  I  claim  (not  arro- 
gantly, but  with  firmness)  the  merit  of  rectification 
ap])lied  to  absolute  errors  or  to  injurious  limitations 
of  the  truth. 

Finally,  as  a  third  class,  and,  in  virtue  of  their 
aim,  as  a  far  higher  class  of  compositions  included 
in  the  American  collection,  I  rank  Tlte  Confessiuns 
of  an  Opium  Eater,  and  also  (but  more  emphatical- 
ly) the  Suspiria  de  PrufundU.  On  these,  as  modes 
of  impassioned  prose  ranging  under  no  precedents 
that  I  am  aware  of  in  any  literature,  it  is  much 
more  difficult  to  speak  justly,  whether  in  a  hostile 
or  a  friendly  character.  As  yet,  neither  of  these  two 
works  has  ever  received  the  least  degree  of  that  cor- 
rection and  pruning  which  both  require  so  extensive- 
ly ;  and  of  the  Susjjiria,  not  more  than  perhaps  one 
third  has  yet  been  printed.  When  both  have  been 
fully  revised,  I  shall  feel  myself  entitled  to  ask  for  a 
more  determinate  adjudication  on  their  claims  as 
works  of  art.  At  present,  I  feel  authorized  to  make 
haughtier  pretensions  in  right  of  their  conception 
than  I  shall  venture  to  do,  under  the  peril  of  being 
supposed  to  characterize  their  execution.  Two  re- 
marks only  I  shall  address  to  the  equity  of  my 
reader.  First,  I  desire  to  remind  him  of  the  peril- 
ous difficulty  besieging  all  attempts    to   clothe   in 


PREFACE.  23 

words  the  visionary  scenes  derived  from  the  world 
of  dreams,  where  a  single  false  note,  a  single  word 
in  a  wrong  key,  ruins  the  whole  music  ;  and,  second- 
ly, I  desire  him  to  consider  the  utter  sterility  of  uni- 
versal literature  in  this  one  department  of  impas- 
sioned prose  ;  which  certainly  argues  some  singular 
diiTiculty  suggesting  a  singular  duty  of  indulgence 
in  criticizing  any  attempt  that  even  imperfectly  suc- 
ceeds. The  sole  Confessions,  belonging  to  past 
times,  that  have  at  all  succeeded  in  engaging  the 
attention  of  men,  are  those  of  St.  Augustine  and  of 
Rousseau.  The  very  idea  of  breathing  a  record  of 
human  passion,  not  into  the  ear  of  the  random 
crowd,  but  of  the  saintly  confessional,  argues  an 
impassioned  theme.  Impassioned,  therefore,  should 
be  the  tenor  of  the  composition.  Now,  in  St. 
Augustine's  Confessions  is  found  one  most  im- 
passioned passage,  viz.,  the  lamentation  for  the 
death  of-  his  youthful  friend  in  the  fourth  book ; 
one,  and  no  more.  Further  there  is  nothing.  In 
Rousseau  there  is  not  even  so  much.  In  the  whole 
work  there  is  nothing  grandly  affecting  but  the  char- 
acter and  the  inexplicable  misery  of  the  writer. 

Meantime,  by  what  accident,  so  foreign  to  my 
nature,  do  I  find  myself  laying  foundations  towards 
a  highei  valuation  of  my  own  workmanship  ?  O 
reader,  I  have  been  talking  idly.  I  care  not  for  any 
valuation  that  depends  upon  comparison  w'lih  oth- 
ers. Place  me  where  you  will  on  the  scale  of  com- 
parison :  only  suffer  me,  though  standing  lowest  in 
your  catalogue,  to  rejoice  in  the  recollection  of  let- 
ters expressing  the  most  fervid  interest  in  particular 


24  PREFACE. 

passages  or  scenes  of  the  Confessions,  and,  by  re- 
bound from  them,  an  interest  in  their  author :  suffer 
me  also  to  anticipate  that,  on  the  publication  of 
some  parts  yet  in  arrear  of  the  Suspiria,  you  your- 
self may  possibly  write  a  letter  to  me,  protesting 
that  your  disapprobation  is  just  where  it  was,  but 
nevertheless  that  you  are  disposed  to  shake  hands 
with  me  —  by  way  of  proof  that  you  like  me  better 
than  I  deserve. 


COXTEXTS. 


CHAPTER  I.  rAOE 
rilE  AFFLICTION  OF  ClilLDUOOD,  ...  .47 
DKEAM  ECHOES  OF  THESE  IKFANT  EXPERIENCES,  .  51 
DREAM  ECHOES  FIFTY   YEARS  LATER, 53 

CnAPTER    II. 
INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  WORLD  OF  STRIFE,      .       .  .58 

CHAPTER    III. 
INFANT  LITERATURE,      .  137 

CHAPTER    IV. 
THE  FEiLiLE  INFIDEL, 153 


CHAPTER    ^. 

1    AM    INTRODUCED    TO    THE    WARFARE     OF    A    PUBLIC 

SCHOOL, 170 

25 


26  CONTEXTS. 

CHAPTER    VI. 
I  ESTER  THE  "WORLD,    .       .  .       .  ....    184 

CHATTER    VII. 
TBE  KATIO>r   OF  LOXDOX,     .  .  2o4 


CHAPTER    VIII. 
DUBLIN, 


CHAPTER    IX. 
FIRST  REBELLION  IX  IRELAND, 


CHAPTER    X. 
FRENCH    INVASION    OF    IRELAND,    AND    SECOND   REBEI^ 
LION .       .       .    2bS 

CHAPTER    XI. 
TRAVELLING,        .       .  ...    309 

CHAPTER    XII. 
MY  BROTHER,       .       .  ....  .       .    332 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
PEEMATURE  MAX  HOOF,  ,       .       .       .       .  306 


AUTOBIOGRArillC    SKETCHES. 


CHAPTER    I. 
THE   AFFLICTION  OF   CHILDHOOD. 

About  the  close  of  my  sixth  year,  suddenly  the  firs 
chapter  of  my  life  came  to  a  violent  termination  ;  tha' 
chapter  which,  even  within  the  gates  of  recovered  para 
disc,  might  merit  a  remembrance.  "  Life  is  finished  !  '^ 
was  the  secret  misgiving  of  my  heart ;  for  the  heart  of 
infancy  is  as  apprehensive  as  that  of  matures!  wisdom  in 
relation  to  any  capital  wound  inflicted  on  the  happiness. 
'■'■Life  is  finished  !  Finished  it  is  f''  was  the  hidden 
meaning  that,  half  unconsciously  to  myself,  lurked  with- 
in my  sighs  ;  and^  as  bells  heard  from  a  distance  on  a 
summer  evening  seem  charged  at  times  with  an  articulate 
form  of  words,  some  monitory  message,  that  rolls  round 
unceasingly,  even  so  for  me  some  noiseless  and  subterra- 
neous voice  seemed  to  chant  continually  a  secret  word, 
made  audible  only  to  my  own  heart  —  that  "now  is  the 
blossoming  of  life  withered  forever."  Not  that  such 
words  formed  themselves  vocally  within  my  ear,  or  issued 
audibly  from  my  lips  ;  but  such  a  whisper  stole  silently  to 
my  heart.  Yet  in  what  sense  could  that  be  true  ?  For 
an  infant  not  jjpore  than  six  years  old,  was  it  possible  that 

27 


28  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

the  promises  of  life  had  been  really  blighted,  or  its 
golden  pleasures  exhausted  ?  Had  I  seen  Rome  ?  Had 
1  read  Milton  ?  Had  I  heard  Mozart  ?  No.  St.  Peter's, 
the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  the  divine  melodies  of  "  Don  Giovan- 
ni," all  alike  were  as  yet  unrevealed  to  me,  and  not  more 
through  the  accidents  of  my  position  than  through  the 
necessity  of  my  yet  imperfect  sensibilities.  Raptures  there 
might  be  in  arrear  ;  but  raptures  are  modes  of  troiihhd 
pleasure.  The  peace,  the  rest,  the  central  security  which 
belong  to  love  that  is  past  all  understanding,  —  these  could 
return  no  more.  Such  a  love,  so  unfathomable,  —  such  a 
peace,  so  unvexed  by  storms,  or  the  fear  of  storms,  —  had 
brooded  over  those  four  latter  years  of  my  infancy,  which 
brought  me  into  special  relations  to  my  elder  sister ;  she 
being  at  this  period  three  years  older  than  myself.  The 
circumstances  which  attended  the  sudden  dissolution  of  this 
most  tender  connection  I  will  here  rehearse.  And,  that  I 
may  do  so  more  intelligibly,  I  will  first  describe  that  serene 
and  sequestered  position  which  we  occupied  in  life.* 

*  As  occasions  arise  in  these  Sketches,  when,  merely  for  the  pur- 
poses of  intelligibilitj.  it  becomes  requisite  to  call  into  notice  such 
personal  distinctions  in  mv  family  as  otherwise  might  be  unim- 
portant, I  here  record  the  entire  list  of  my  brothers  and  sisters,  ac- 
cording to  their  order  of  succession  ;  and  Miltonically  I  include  my- 
self; having  sorely  as  much  logical  right  to  count  myself  in  the  series 
of  my  own  brothers  as  Milton  could  have  to  pronounce  Adam  the 
goodliest  of  his  own  sons.  First  and  last,  we  counted  as  eight  chil- 
dren, viz.,  four  brothers  and  four  sisters,  though  never  counting  more 
than  six  living  at  once,  viz.,  1.  William,  older  tlian  myself  by  more 
than  five  years ;  2.  Elizabeth ;  3.  Jaue.  who  died  in  her  fourth  year  ; 
A.SIaiy;  5.  myself,  certainly  not  the  goodliest  m.in  of  men  since 
bom  my  brothers ;  6.  liichard,  known  to  us  all  by  the  household 
name  of  Pink,  who  in  his  after  years  tilted  up  and  down  what  might 
then  be  called  his  Britannic  majesty's  oceans  (viz.,  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific)  in  the  quality  of  midshipman,  until  "Waterloo  in  one  day  put 
an  extinguisher  on  that  whole  generation  of  midshipmen,  by  extin- 


THE    AFFLICTION     OF    CHILDHOOD.  29 

Any  expression  of  personal  vanity,  intruding  upon  im- 
passioned records,  is  fatal  to  tlicir  effect  —  as  being  in- 
compatible with  that  absorption  of  s|)irit  and  that  self- 
oblivion  in  which  only  deep  passion  originates  or  can  find 
a  genial  home.  It  would,  therefore,  to  myself  be  exceed- 
ingly painful  that  even  a  shadow,  or  so  much  as  a  seeming 
expression  of  that  tendency,  should  creep  into  these  remi- 
niscences. And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  so  impossible, 
without  laying  an  injurious  restraint  upon  the  natural 
movement  of  such  a  narrative,  to  prevent  oblique  gleams 
reaching  the  reader  from  such  circumstances  of  luxury  or 
aristocratic  elegance  as  surrounded  my  childhood,  that  on 
all  accounts  I  think  it  better  to  tell  him,  from  the  first, 
with  the  simplicity  of  truth,  in  what  order  of  society  my 
family  moved  at  the  time  from  which  this  preliminary  nar- 
rative is  dated.  Otherwise  it  might  happen  that,  merely 
by  reporting  faithfully  the  facts  of  this  early  experience,  I 
could  hardly  prevent  the  reader  from  I'eceiving  an  impres- 
sion as  of  some  higher  rank  than  did  really  belong  to  my 
family.  And  this  impression  might  seem  to  have  been 
designedly  insinuated  by  myself. 

My  father  was  a  merchant ;  not  in  the  sense  of  Scotland, 
where  it  means  a  retail  dealer,  one,  for  instance,  who  sells 
groceries  in  a  cellar,  but  in  the  English  sense,  a  sense 
rigorously  exclusive  ;  that  is,  he  was  a  man  engaged  in 
foreign  commerce,  and  no  other ;  therefore,  in  wholesale 
commerce,  and  no  other  —  which  last  limitation  of  the 
idea  is  important,  because  it  brings  him  within  the  benefit 
of  Cicero's  condescending  distinction*  as  one  who  ought 

g^Tii^hing  all  further  call  for  their  services  ;  7.  a  second  Jane  ;  8.  Henry, 
a  posthumous  child,  who  belonged  to  Brazennose  College,  Oxford, 
and  died  about  his  twenty-sixth  year. 

*  Cicero,  in  a  well-known  passage  of  his  "  Ethics,"  speaks  of  trade 
as  irredeemably  base,  if  petty,  but  as  not  so  absolutely  felonious  if 
wholesale. 


30  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

to  be  despised  certainly,  but  not  too  intensely  to  be  de- 
spised even  by  a  Roman  senator.  He  —  this  imperfectly 
despicable  man  —  died  at  an  early  age,  and  very  soon  after 
the  incidents  recorded  in  this  chapter,  leaving  to  his  family, 
then  consisting  of  a  wife  and  six  children,  an  unburdened 
estate  producing  exactly  sixteen  hundred  pounds  a  year. 
Naturally,  therefore,  at  the  date  of  my  narrative,  —  whilst 
he  was  still  living,  —  he  had  an  income  very  much 
larger,  from  the  addition  of  current  commercial  profits. 
Now,  to  any  man  who  is  acquainted  with  commercial  life 
as  it  exists  in  England,  it  will  readily  occur  that  in  an 
opulent  English  family  of  that  class  —  opulent,  though  not 
emphatically  rich  in  a  mercantile  estimate — the  domestic 
economy  is  pretty  sure  to  move  upon  a  scale  of  liberality 
altogether  unknown  amongst  the  corresponding  orders  in 
foreign  nations.  The  establishment  of  servants,  for  in- 
stance, in  such  houses,  measured  even  numerically  against 
those  establishments  in  other  nations,  would  somewhat  sur- 
prise the  foreign  appraiser,  simply  as  interpreting  the  rela- 
tive station  in  society  occupied  bv  the  English  merchant. 
But  this  same  establishment,  when  measured  by  the  quality 
and  amount  of  the  provision  made  for  its  comfort  and  even 
elegant  accommodation,  would  fill  him  with  twofold  astonish- 
ment, as  interpreting  equally  the  social  valuation  of  the 
English  merchant,  and  also  the  social  valuation  of  the 
English  servant ;  for,  in  the  truest  sense,  England  is  the 
paradise  of  household  servants.  Liberal  housekeeping,  in 
fact,  as  extending  itself  to  the  meanest  servants,  and  the 
disdain  of  petty  parsimonies,  are  peculiar  to  England.  And 
in  this  respect  the  families  of  English  merchants,  as  a 
class,  far  outrun  the  scale  of  expenditure  prevalent,  not 
only  amongst  the  corresponding  bodies  of  continental  na- 
tions, but  even  amongst  the  poorer  sections  of  our  own 
nobility  —  though  confessedly  the  most  splendid  in  Eu- 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    CHILDHOOD.  31 

rope  ;  a  fact  which,  since  the  period  of  my  infancy,  I  have 
had  many  personal  opportunities  for  verifying  both  in  Eng- 
hind  and  in  Ireland.  From  this  peculiar  anomaly,  affect- 
ing the  domestic  economy  of  English  merchants,  there 
arises  a  disturbance  upon  the  usual  scale  for  measuring 
the  relations  of  rank.  The  equation,  so  to  speak,  be- 
tween rank  and  the  ordinary  expressions  of  rank,  which 
usually  runs  parallel  to  the  graduations  of  expenditure,  is 
here  interrupted  and  confounded,  so  that  one  rank  would 
be  collected  from  the  name  of  the  occupation,  and  another 
rank,  much  higher,  from  the  splendor  of  the  domestic 
menage.  I  warn  the  reader,  therefore,  (or,  rather,  my  ex- 
planation has  already  warned  him,)  that  he  is  not  to  infer, 
from  any  casual  indications  of  luxury  or  elegance,  a  cor- 
responding elevation  of  rank. 

We,  the  children  of  the  house,  stood,  in  fact,  upon  the 
very  happiest  tier  in  the  social  scaffolding  for  all  good  in- 
fluences. The  prayer  of  Agur  —  "  Give  me  neither  pov- 
erty nor  riches"  —  was  realized  for  us.  That  blessing  we 
had,  being  neither  too  high  nor  too  low.  High  enough  we 
were  to  see  models  of  good  manners,  of  self-respect,  and 
of  simple  dignity  ;  obscure  enough  to  be  left  in  the  sweet- 
est of  solitudes.  Amply  furnished  with  all  the  nobler  ben- 
efits of  wealth,  with  extra  means  of  health,  of  intellectual 
culture,  and  of  elegant  enjoyment,  on  the  other  hand,  we 
knew  nothing  of  its  social  distinctions.  Not  depressed  by 
the  consciousness  of  privations  too  sordid,  not  tempted  into 
restlessness  by  the  consciousness  of  privileges  too  aspiring, 
we  had  no  motives  for  shame,  we  had  none  for  pride. 
Grateful  also  to  this  hour  I  am,  that,  amidst  luxuries  in  all 
things  else,  we  were  trained  to  a  Spartan  simplicity  of 
diet  —  that  we  fared,  in  fact,  very  much  less  sumptuously 
than  the  servants.  And  if  (after  the  model  of  the  Em- 
peror Marcus  Aureliusj  I  should  return   thanks  to  Provi- 


32  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES, 

dence  for  all  the  separate  blessings  of  my  early  situation, 
these  four  1  would  single  out  as  worthy  of  special  commemo- 
ration—  that  I  lived  in  a  rustic  solitude  ;  that  this  solitude 
was  in  England  ;  that  my  infant  feelings  were  moulded 
by  the  gentlest  of  sisters,  and  not  by  horrid,  pugilistic 
brothers  ;  finally,  that  I  and  they  were  dutiful  and  loving 
members  of  a  pure,  holy,  and  magnificent  church. 


The  earliest  incidents  in  my  life,  which  left  stings  in  my 
memory  so  as  to  be  remembered  at  this  day,  were  two, 
and  both  before  I  could  have  completeted  my  second  year  ; 
namely,  1st,  a  remarkable  dream  of  terrific  grandeur 
about  a  favorite  nurse,  which  is  interesting  to  myself  for 
this  reason  —  that  it  demonstrates  my  dreaming  tendencies 
to  have  been  constitutional,  and  not  dependent  upon  laud- 
anum ;  *  and,  2dly,  the  fact  of  having  connected  a  pro- 
found sense  of  pathos  with  the  reappearance,  ver\"  early 
in  the  spring,  of  some  crocuses.  This  I  mention  as  in- 
explicable :  for  such  annual  resurrections  of  plants  and 
flowers  affect  us  only  as  memorials,  or  suggestions  of  some 
higher  change,  and  therefore  in  connection  with  the  idea 
of  death  ;  yet  of  death  I  could,  at  that  time,  have  had  no 
experience  whatever. 

This,  however,  I  was  speedily  to  acquire.  My  two  eldest 
sii-".ters  —  eldest  of  three  then  living,  and  also  elder  than 
myself  —  were  summoned  to  an   early  death.     The  first 

*  It  is  true  that  in  those  days  -paregoric  elixir  vras  occasionally 
given  to  children  in  colds  ;  and  in  this  medicine  there  is  a  small  pro- 
portion of  laudanum.  But  no  medicine  was  ever  administered  to  any 
member  of  our  nursery  except  under  medical  sanction  ;  and  this, 
assuredly,  would  not  have  been  obtained  to  the  exhil)ition  of  laud- 
anum in  a  case  such  as  mine.  For  I  was  then  not  more  that  men- 
ty-one  months  old  ;  at  which  age  the  action  of  opium  is  capricious, 
and  therefore  perilous. 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    CIIILDnOOD.  33 

who  died  was  Jane,  about  two  years  older  than  myself. 
She  was  three  and  a  half,  I  one  and  a  half,  more  or  less 
by  some  tride  that  I  do  not  recollect.  But  death  was  then 
scarcely  intelligible  to  me,  and  I  could  not  so  properly  be 
said  to  suffer  sorrow  as  a  sad  perplexity.  There  was 
another  death  in  the  house  about  the  same  time,  namely, 
of  a  maternal  grandmother ;  but,  as  she  had  come  to  us 
fur  the  express  purpose  of  dying  in  her  daughter's  society, 
and  from  illness  had  lived  perfectly  secluded,  our  nursery 
circle  knew  her  but  little,  and  were  certainly  more  affected 
by  the  death  (which  I  witnessed)  of  a  beautiful  bird,  viz., 
a  kingfisher,  which  had  been  injured  by  an  accident.  With 
my  sister  June's  death  (though  otherwise,  as  I  have  said, 
less  sorrowful  than  perplexing)  there  was,  however,  con- 
nected an  incident  which  made  a  most  fearful  impression 
upon  myself,  deepening  my  tendencies  to  thoughlfulness 
and  abstraction  beyond  what  would  seem  credible  for  my 
years.  If  there  was  one  thing  in  this  world  from  which, 
more  than  from  any  other,  nature  had  forced  me  to  revolt, 
it  was  brutality  and  violence.  Now,  a  whisper  arose  in  the 
family  that  a  female  servant,  who  by  accident  was  drawn 
off  from  her  proper  duties  to  attend  my  sister  Jane  for  a 
day  or  two,  had  on  one  occasion  treated  her  harshly,  if  not 
brutally;  and  as  this  ill  treatment  happened  within  three  or 
four  days  of  her  death,  so  that  the  occasion  of  it  must  have 
been  some  fretfulness  in  the  poor  child  caused  by  her  suf- 
ferings, naturally  there  was  a  sense  of  awe  and  indignation 
diffused  through  the  family.  I  believe  the  story  never 
reached  my  mother,  and  possibly  it  was  exaggerated  ;  but 
upon  me  the  effect  was  terrific.  I  did  not  often  see  the 
person  charged  with  this  cruelty  ;  but,  when  I  did,  my  eyes 
souaht  the  ground  ;  nor  could  I  have  borne  to  look  her  in 
the  face ;  not,  however,  in  any  spirit  that  could  be  called 
anger.  The  feeling  which  fell  upon  me  was  a  shuddering 
3 


34  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

horror,  as  upon  a  first  glimpse  of  the  truth  that  I  was  in  a 
world  of  evil  and  strife.  Though  born  in  a  large  town, 
(the  town  of  Manchester,  even  then  amongst  the  largest 
of  the  island,)  1  had  passed  the  whole  of  my  childhood, 
except  for  the  few  earliest  weeks,  in  a  rural  seclusion. 
With  three  innocent  little  sisters  for  playmates,  sleeping 
always  amongst  them,  and  shut  up  forever  in  a  silent 
garden  from  all  knowledge  of  poverty,  or  oppression,  or 
outrage,  I  had  not  suspected  until  this  moment  the  true 
complexion  of  the  world  in  which  myself  and  my  sisters 
were  living.  Henceforward  the  character  of  my  thoughts 
changed  greatly;  for  so  representative  are  some  acts,  that 
one  single  case  of  the  class  is  sufficient  to  throw  open 
before  you  the  whole  theatre  of  possibilities  in  that  direc- 
tion. I  never  heard  that  the  woman  accused  of  this  cruelty 
took  it  at  all  to  heart,  even  after  the  event  which  so  im- 
mediately succeeded  had  reflected  upon  it  a  more  painful 
emphasis.  But  for  myself,  that  incident  had  a  lasting 
revolutionary  power  in  coloring  my  estimate  of  life. 

So  passed  away  from  earth  one  of  those  three  sisters 
that  made  up  my  nursery  playmates;  and  so  did  my 
acquaintance  (if  such  it  could  be  called)  commence  with 
mortality.  Yet,  in  fact,  I  knew  little  more  of  mortality 
than  that  Jane  had  disappeared.  She  had  gone  away  ;  but 
perhaps  she  would  come  back.  Happy  interval  of  heaven- 
born  ignorance  !  Gracious  immunity  of  infancy  from  sor- 
row disproportioned  to  its  strength  !  I  was  sad  for  Jane's 
absence.  But  still  in  my  heart  I  trusted  that  she  would 
come  again.  Summer  and  winter  came  again  —  crocuses 
and  roses  ;  why  not  little  Jane  ? 

Thus  easily  was  healed,  then,  the  first  wound  in  my 
infant  heart.  Not  so  the  second.  For  thou,  dear,  noble 
Elizabeth,  around  whose  ample  brow,  as  often  as  thy 
sweet  countenance  rises  upon  the  darkness,  I  fancy  a  tiara 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    CHILDHOOD.  35 

of  light  or  a  gleaming  aureola  *  in  token  of  thy  premature 
intellectual  grandeur,  —  thou  vvhcjsc  head,  for  its  superb 
developments,  was  tlic  astonishment  of  science,t — thou 
next,  but  after  an  interval  of  ha|)py  years,  thou  also  wert 
summoned  away  from  our  nursery  ;  and  the  night,  which 
fur  me  gathered  upon  that  event,  ran  after  my  steps  far 
into  life  ;  and  perhaps  at  this  day  I  resemble  little  for  good 
or  for  ill  that  which  else  I  should  have  been.  Pillar  of  fire 
that  didst  go  before  me  to  guide  and  to  quicken, —  pillar 
of  darkness,  when  thy  countenance  was  turned  away  to 
God,  that  didst  too  truly  reveal  to  my  dawning  fears  the 

*  "  Aureola."  —  The  aureola  is  the  name  given  in  the  "  Legends  of 
the  Christian  Saints  "  to  that  golden  diadem  or  circlet  of  supernat- 
ural liglit  (that  glori/,  as  it  is  commonly  called  in  English)  which, 
amongst  the  great  masters  of  painting  in  Italy,  surrounded  the  heads 
of  Christ  and  of  distinguished  saints. 

t  "The  astonishment  of  science."  —  Her  medical  attendants  were 
Dr.  Percival,  a  well-known  literary  physician,  who  had  been  a  cor- 
respondent of  Condorcet,  D'Alemhert,  &c.,  and  Mr.  Charles  White, 
the  most  distinguislied  surgeon  at  that  time  in  tlie  north  of  England. 
It  was  he  wlio  pronounced  her  head  to  be  tlie  finest  in  its  development 
of  any  that  he  had  ever  seen  —  an  assertion  which,  to  my  own  knowl- 
edge, he  repeated  in  after  years,  and  with  enthusiasm.  That  he  had 
some  acquaintance  with  the  subject  may  be  presumed  from  this,  that, 
at  so  early  a  stage  of  such  inquiries,  he  had  published  a  work  on 
human  craniology,  supported  bj-  measurement  of  heads  selected 
from  all  varieties  of  the  human  species.  Meantime,  as  it  would  grieve 
me  that  any  trait  of  what  might  seem  vanity  should  creep  into  this 
record,  I  will  admit  that  my  sister  died  of  hydrocephalus ;  and  it  has 
been  often  supposed  that  the  premature  expansion  of  the  intellect 
in  cases  of  that  class  is  altogether  morbid  —  forced  on,  in  fact,  by 
tlie  mere  stimulation  of  the  disease.  I  would,  however,  suggest,  as 
a  possibility,  the  very  opposite  order  of  relation  between  the  disease 
and  the  intellectual  manifestations.  Not  the  disease  may  always 
have  caused  the  preternatural  growth  of  the  intellect;  but,  inversely, 
this  growth  of  the  intellect  coming  on  spontaneously,  and  outrun- 
ning the  capacities  of  the  physical  structure,  may  have  caused  the 
disease. 


36 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 


secret  shadow  of  death, —  by  what  mysterious  gravitation  was 
it  that  my  heart  had  been  drawn  to  thine?  Could  a  child, 
six  years  old,  place  any  special  value  upon  intellectual  for- 
wardness ?  Serene  and  capacious  as  my  sister's  mind 
appeared  to  me  upon  after  review,  was  that  a  charm  for 
stealing  away  the  heart  of  an  infant  ?  O,  no  !  I  think  of 
it  now  with  interest,  because  it  lends,  in  a  stranger's  ear, 
some  justification  to  the  excess  of  my  fondness.  But  then 
it  was  lost  upon  me  ;  or,  if  not  lost,  was  perceived  only 
through  its  effects.  Hadst  thou  been  an  idiot,  my  sister, 
not  the  less  I  must  have  loved  thee,  having  that  capacious 
heart  —  overflowing,  even  as  mine  overflowed,  with  tender- 
ness ;  stung,  even  as  mine  was  stung,  by  the  necessity  of 
loving  and  being  loved.  This  it  was  which  crowned  thee 
with  beauty  and  power. 

"  Love,  tlic  holy  sense, 
Best  gift  of  God,  in  tliee  was  most  intense." 

That  lamp  of  paradise  was,  for  myself,  kindled  by 
reflection  from  the  living  light  which  burned  so  stead- 
fastly in  thee  ;  and  never  but  to  thee,  never  again  since 
thy  departure,  had  I  power  or  temptation,  courage  or  de- 
sire, to  utter  the  feelings  which  possessed  me.  For  I  was 
the  shyest  of  children  ;  and,  at  all  stages  of  life,  a  natural 
sense  of  personal  dignity  held  me  back  from  exposing  the 
least  ray  of  feelings  which  I  was  not  encouraged  icholly  io 
reveal. 

It  is  needless  to  pursue,  circumstantially,  the  course  of 
that  sickness  which  carried  off  my  leader  and  companion. 
She  (according  to  my  recollection  at  this  moment)  was  just 
as  near  to  nine  years  as  I  to  six.  And  perhaps  this  natural 
precedency  in  authority  of  years  and  judgment,  united  to 
the  tender  humility  with  which  she  declined  to  assert  it,  had 
been  amongst  the  fascinations  of  her  presence.    It  was  upor. 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    CHILDHOOD.  ^1 

a  Sunday  evening,  if  such  conjectures  can  be  trusted,  that 
the  spark  of  fatal  fire  fell  upon  that  train  of  predispositions 
to  a  brain  complaint  which  had  hitherto  slumbered  within 
her.  She  had  been  pern'  tted  to  drink  tea  at  the  house 
of  a  laboring  man,  the  father  of  a  favorite  female  servant. 
The  sun  had  set  when  she  returned,  in  the  company  of  this 
servant,  through  meadows  reeking  with  exhalations  after  a 
fervent  day.  From  that  time  she  sickened.  In  such  cir- 
cumstances, a  child,  as  young  as  myself,  feels  no  anxieties. 
Looking  upon  medical  men  as  people  privileged,  and  natu- 
rally commissioned,  to  make  war  upon  pain  and  sickness,  I 
never  had  a  misgiving  about  the  result.  I  grieved,  indeed, 
that  my  sister  should  lie  in  bed  ;  I  grieved  still  more  to 
hear  her  moan.  But  all  this  appeared  to  me  no  more  than 
as  a  night  of  trouble,  on  which  the  dawn  would  soon  arise. 
O  moment  of  darkness  and  delirium,  when  the  elder 
nurse  awakened  me  from  that  delusion,  and  launched  God's 
thunderbolt  at  my  heart  in  the  assurance  that  my  sister 
MUST  die  !  Rightly  it  is  said  of  utter,  utter  misery,  that 
it  "cannot  be  rememhered.'''' *  Itself,  as  a  rememberable 
thing,  is  swallowed  up  in  its  own  chaos.  Blank  anarchy 
and  confusion  of  mind  fell  upon  me.  Deaf  and  blind  I 
was,  as  I  reeled  under  the  revelation.  I  wish  not  to  recall 
the  circumstances  of  that  time,  when  my  agony  was  at 
its  height,  and  hers,  in  another  sense,  was  approaching. 
Enough  it  is  to  say  that  all  was  soon  over ;  and  the  morn- 
ing of  that  day  had  at  last  arrived  which  looked  down  upon 
her  innocent  face,  sleeping  the  sleep  from  which  there  is 
no  awaking,  and  upon  me  sorrowing  the  sorrow  for  which 
there  is  no  consolation. 

Or.  the   day   after   my   sister's   death,  whilst  the  sweet 

*  "  I  stood  hi  unimaj^inable  trance 

And  agony  which  cannot  be  remembered." 

Speech  of  Alhadra,  in  Coleridge^s  Remorse. 


■^  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

juiple  of  her  brain  was  yet  unviolated  by  human  scru- 
tiny, I  formed  my  own  scheme  for  seeing  her  once  more. 
Not  for  the  world  would  I  have  made  this  known,  nor  have 
suffered  a  witness  to  accompany  me.  I  had  never  heard 
of  feelings  that  take  the  name  of  "  sentimental,"  nor 
dreamed  of  such  a  possibility.  But  grief,  even  in  a  chikl, 
hates  the  light,  and  shrinks  from  human  eyes.  The  house 
was  large  enough  to  have  two  staircases;  and  by  one  of 
these  I  knew  that  about  midday,  when  all  would  be  quiet, 
(for  the  servants  dined  at  one  o'clock,)  1  could  steal  up  into 
her  chamber.  I  imagine  that  it  was  about  an  hour  after 
high  noon  when  I  reached  the  chamber  door :  it  was  locked, 
but  the  key  was  not  taken  away.  Entering,  I  closed  the 
door  so  softly,  that,  although  it  opened  upon  a  hall  which 
ascended  through  all  the  stories,  no  echo  ran  along  the 
silent  walls.  Then,  turning  round,  I  sought  my  sister's 
face.  But  the  bed  had  been  moved,  and  the  back  was 
now  turned  towards  myself  Nothing  met  my  eyes  but 
one  large  window,  wide  open,  through  which  the  sun  of 
midsummer,  at  midday,  was  showering  down  torrents  of 
splendor.  The  weather  was  dry,  the  sky  was  cloudless, 
the  blue  depths  seemed  the  express  types  of  infinity  ;  and 
it  was  not  possible  for  eye  to  behold,  or  for  heart  to 
conceive,  any  symbols  more  pathetic  of  life  and  the  glory 
of  life. 

Let  me  pause  for  one  instant  in  approaching  a  remem- 
brance so  affecting  for  my  own  mind,  to  mention,  that,  in 
the  "  Opium  Confessions,"  1  endeavored  to  explain  the 
reason  wh}'  death,  other  conditions  remaining  the  same,  is 
more  profoundly  affecting  in  summer  than  in  other  parts 
of  the  year  —  so  far,  at  least,  as  it  is  liable  to  any  modifica- 
tion at  all  from  accidents  of  scenery  or  season.  The  reason, 
as  I  there  suggested,  lies  in  the  antagonism  between  the 
tropical    redundancy   of   life    in   summer  and   the   frozen 


THE    AFFIJCTION    OF    CHILDHOOD.  39 

stcrilitips  of  the  grave.  The  summer  we  see,  the  grave  we 
haunt  with  our  thoughts ;  the  glory  is  around  us,  the  clurk- 
ntss  is  within  us;  and,  the  two  coming  into  collision,  each 
exalts  the  other  into  stronger  relief.  But,  in  my  case, 
there  was  even  a  subtler  reason  why  the  summer  had  this 
intense  power  of  vivifying  the  spectacle  or  the  thoughts  of 
death.  And,  recollecting  it,  I  am  struck  with  the  truth, 
that  far  more  of  our  deepest  thoughts  and  feelings  pass  to 
us  through  perplexed  combinations  of  concrete  objects,  pass 
to  us  as  involutes  (if  I  may  coin  that  word)  in  compound 
experiences  incapable  of  being  disentangled,  than  ever 
reach  us  directly^  and  in  their  own  abstract  shapes.  It  had 
happened,  that  amongst  our  vast  nursery  collection  of 
books  was  the  Bible,  illustrated  with  many  pictures.  And 
in  long  dark  evenings,  as  my  three  sisters,  with  myself,  sat 
by  the  firelight  round  the  guard*  of  our  nursery,  no  book 
was  so  much  in  request  among  us.  It  ruled  us  and 
swayed  us  as  mysteriously  as  music.  Our  younger  nurse, 
whom  we  all  loved,  would  sometimes,  according  to  her 
simple  powers,  endeavor  to  explain  what  we  found  obscure. 
^^'e,  the  children,  were  all  constitutionally  touched  with 
pcnsiveness  :  the  fitful  gloom  and  sudden  lambencies  of 
the  room  by  firelight  suited  our  evening  state  of  feelings  ; 
and  they  suited,  also,  the  divine  revelations  of  power  and 
mysterious  beauty  which  awed  us.  Above  all,  the  story  of 
a  just  man, —  man,  and  vet  not  man,  real  above  all  things, 
and  yet  shadowy  above  all  things,  —  who  had  suffered  the 
jKission  of  death  in  Palestine,  slept  upon  our  minds  like 
early  dawn  upon  the  waters.  The  nurse  knew  and  ex- 
plained to  us  the  chief  differences  in  Oriental  climates;  and 

*  "  Jlie  c/unrd." — I  know  not  whether  the  word  is  a  local  one  in 
this  sense.  What  I  mean  is  a  sort  of  fender,  four  or  five  feet  high, 
wliich  locks  up  the  fire  from  too  near  an  approach  on  the  part  of 
children. 


40  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC  SKETCHE:3. 

all  these  differences  (as  it  happens)  express  themselves 
more  or  less,  in  varying  relations  to  the  great  accidents 
and  powers  of  summer.  The  cloudless  sunlights  of  Syria 
—  those  seemed  to  argue  everlasting  summer;  the  disciples 
plucking  the  cars  of  corn  —  that  7nust  be  summer ;  but, 
above  all,  the  very  name  of  Palm  Sunday  (a  festival  in  the 
English  church)  troubled  me  like  an  anthem.  "Sunday  !" 
■what  was  that  7  That  was  the  day  of  peace  which  masked 
another  peace  deeper  than  the  heart  of  man  can  compre- 
hend. "  Palms  !  "  what  were  they  .''  That  was  an  equivo- 
cal word  ;  palms,  in  the  sense  of  trophies,  expressed  the 
pomps  of  life ;  palms,  as  a  product  of  nature,  expressed 
the  pomps  of  summer.  Yet  still  even  this  explanation  does 
not  suffice  ;  it  was  not  merely  by  the  peace  and  by  the 
summer,  by  the  deep  sound  of  rest  below  all  rest  and  of 
ascending  glory,  that  I  had  been  haunted.  It  was  also  be- 
cause Jerusalem  stood  near  to  those  deep  images  both  in 
time  and  in  place.  The  great  event  of  Jerusalem  was  at 
hand  when  Palm  Sunday  came ;  and  the  scene  of  that 
Sunday  was  near  in  place  to  Jerusalem.  What  then  was 
Jerusalem .''  Did  I  fancy  it  to  be  the  omphalos  (navel)  or 
physical  centre  of  the  earth  }  Why  should  that  affect  me  .-* 
Such  a  pretension  had  once  been  made  for  Jerusalem,  and 
once  for  a  Grecian  city ;  and  both  pretensions  had  become 
ridiculous,  as  the  figure  of  the  planet  became  known. 
Yes  ;  but  if  not  of  the  earth,  yet  of  mortality ;  for  earth's 
tenant,  Jerusalem,  had  now  become  the  omphalos  and 
absolute  centre.  Yet  how  r  There,  on  the  contraiy, 
it  was,  as  we  infants  understood,  that  mortality  had  been 
trampled  under  foot.  True  ;  but,  for  that  veiy  reason, 
there  it  was  that  mortality  had  opened  its  very  gloomiest 
crater.  There  it  was,  indeed,  that  the  human  had  risen  on 
wings  from  the  grave  ;  but,  for  that  reason,  there  also  it 
was  that  the  divine  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  abyss ; 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF     CHILDHOOD.  41 

the  lesser  star  couUl  not  rise  before  the  greater  should  sub- 
mit to  eclipse.  Summer,  therefore,  liad  connected  itself 
with  death,  not  merely  as  a  mode  of  antagonism,  but  also 
as  a  phenomenon  brought  into  intricate  relations  with  death 
by  scriptual  scenery  and  events. 

Out  of  tliis  digression,  for  the  purpose  of  showing  how 
inextricably  my  feelings  and  images  of  death  were  en- 
tangled will)  those  of  summer,  as  connected  with  Palestine 
and  Jerusalem,  let  me  come  back  to  the  bed  chamber  of 
my  sister.  From  the  gorgeous  sunlight  I  turned  around  to 
the  corpse.  There  lay  the  sweet  childish  figure  ;  there 
the  angel  face ;  and,  as  people  usually  fancy,  it  was  said 
in  the  house  that  no  features  had  suffered  any  change. 
Had  they  not .?  The  forehead,  indeed,  —  the  serene  and 
noble  forehead,  —  that  might  be  the  same  ;  but  the  frozen 
eyelids,  the  darkness  that  seemed  to  steal  from  beneath 
them,  the  marble  lips,  the  stiffening  hands,  laid  palm  to 
palm,  as  if  repeating  the  supplications  of  closing  anguish, 
—  could  these  be  mistaken  for  life  .^  Had  it  been  so, 
wherefore  did  I  not  spring  to  those  heavenly  lips  with  tears 
and  never-ending  kisses  ?  But  so  it  was  not.  I  stood 
checked  for  a  moment ;  awe,  not  fear,  foil  upon  me  ;  and, 
whilst  I  stood,  a  solemn  wind  began  to  blow  —  the  saddest 
that  ear  ever  heard.  It  was  a  wind  that  might  have  swept 
the  fields  of  mortality  for  a  thousand  centuries.  Many 
times  since,  upon  summer  days,  when  the  sun  is  about  the 
hottest,  I  have  remarked  the  same  wind  arising  and  utter- 
ing  the    same    hollow,  solemn,  Memnonian,*   but  saintly 

*  "  Jl A n»)o?? /«>(."  —  For  the  sake  of  many  readers,  whose  hearts 
may  go  along  earnestly  with  a  roeord  of  infant  sorrow,  hut  whose 
course  of  life  lias  not  allowed  them  much  leisure  for  study,  I  pause  to 
explain  —  that  the  head  of  Memnon,  in  the  British  Museum,  that 
sulilime  head  which  wears  upon  its  lips  a  smile  coextensive  with  all 
time  and  all  space,  an  JEonian  smile  of  gracious  love  and  Pan-like 


42  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

swell  :  it  is  in  this  world  the  one  great  audille  symbol  of 
eternity.  And  three  times  in  ray  life  have  I  happened  to 
hear  the  same  sound  in  the  same  circumstances  —  namely, 
when  standing  between  an  open  W'indow  and  a  dead  body 
on  a  summer  day. 

Instantly,  when  my  ear  caught  this  vast  ^Eolian  intona- 
tion, w4ien  my  eye  filled  with  the  golden  fulness  of  life, 

mystery,  the  most  clifFusive  and  pathetically  divine  that  the  hand  of 
man  has  created,  is  re]jresented,on  the  authority  of  ancient  traditions, 
to  have  uttered  at  sunrise,  or  soon  after  as  the  sun's  rays  had  accumu- 
lated heat  enoup:h  to  rarefy  the  air  within  certain  cavities  in  the  bust, 
a  solemn  and  dirge-like  series  of  intonations ;  the  simple  explanation 
being,  in  its  general  outline,  this  —  that  sonorous  currents  of  air 
were  produced  by  causing  chambers  of  cold  and  heavy  air  to  press 
upon  other  collections  of  air,  warmed,  and  therefore  rarefied,  and 
therefore  yielding  readily  to  the  pressure  of  heavier  air.  Currents 
being  thus  established  by  artificial  arrangements  of  tubes,  a  certain 
succession  of  notes  could  be  concerted  and  sustained.  Near  the  Red 
Sea  lies  a  chain  of  sand  hills,  which,  by  a  natural  system  of  grooves 
inosculating  with  each  other,  become  vocal  under  changing  circum- 
stances in  the  position  of  the  sun,  &c.  I  knew  a  boy  who,  upon  ob- 
serving steadily,  and  reflecting  upon  a  phenomenon  that  met  him  in 
his  daily  experience,  viz.,  that  tubes,  through  which  a  stream  of 
water  was  passing,  gave  out  a  very  different  sound  according  to  the 
varying  slenderness  or  fulness  of  the  current,  devised  an  instrument 
that  yielded  a  rude  hydraulic  gamut  of  sounds  ;  and,  indeed,  upon 
this  simple  phenomenon  is  founded  the  use  and  power  of  the  stetho- 
scope. For  exactly  as  a  thin  thread  of  water,  trickling  through  a 
leaden  tube,  yields  a  stridulous  and  plaintive  sound  compared  with 
the  full  volume  of  sound  corresponding  to  the  full  volume  of  water, 
on  parity  of  principles,  nobody  will  doubt  that  the  current  of 
blood  pouring  through  the  tubes  of  the  human  frame  will  utter  to  tlie 
learned  ear,  when  armed  with  the  stethoscope,  an  elaborate  gamut  or 
compass  of  music  recording  the  ravages  of  disease,  or  the  glorious 
plenitudes  of  health,  as  faithfully  as  the  cavities  within  this  ancient 
^lemnonian  bust  reported  this  mighty  event  of  sunrise  to  the  rejoi- 
cing world  of  light  and  life;  or,  again,  under  the  sad  passion  of  the 
dying  day,  uttered  the  sweet  requiem  that  belonged  to  its  departure. 


THE     AFFLICTION     OF    CHILDHOOD.  43 

the  pomps  of  the  heavens  above,  or  the  glory  of  tlie  flowers 
below,  and  turning  when  it  settled  upon  the  frost  which 
overspread  my  sister's  face,  instantly  a  trance  fell  upon  me. 
A  vault  seemed  to  open  in  the  zenith  of  the  far  blue  sky,  a 
sliaft  which  ran  up  forever.  I,  in  spirit,  rose  as  if  on  bil- 
lows that  also  ran  up  the  shaft  forever;  and  the  billows 
seemed  to  pursue  the  throne  of  God  ;  but  that  also  ran  be- 
fore us  and  fled  away  continually.  The  flight  and  the  pursuit 
seemed  to  go  on  forever  and  ever.  Frost  gathering  frost, 
some  Sarsar  wind  of  death,  seemed  to  repel  me  ;  some 
mighty  relation  between  God  and  death  dimly  struggled  to 
evolve  itself  from  the  dreadful  antagonism  between  them  ; 
shadowy  meanings  even  yet  continued  to  exercise  and  tor- 
nent,  in  dreams,  tlie  deciphering  oracle  within  me.  I  slept 
—  for  how  long  I  cannot  say  :  slowly  I  recovered  my  self- 
possession  ;  and,  when  I  woke,  found  myself  standing,  as 
before,  close  to  my  sister's  bed. 

1  have  reason  to  believe  that  a  very  long  interval  had 
elapsed  during  this  wandering  or  suspension  of  my  perfect 
mind.  When  I  returned  to  myself,  there  was  a  foot  (or  I 
fancied  so)  on  the  stairs.  I  was  alarmed  ;  for,  if  any  body 
had  detected  me,  means  would  have  been  taken  to  prevent 
my  coming  again.  Hastily,  therefore,  I  kissed  the  lips  that 
I  should  kiss  no  more,  and  slunk,  like  a  guilty  thing,  with 
stealthy,  steps  from  the  room.  Thus  perished  the  vision, 
loveliest  amongst  all  the  shows  which  earth  has  revealed  to 
me  ;  thus  mutilated  was  the  parting  which  should  have 
lasted  forever  ;  tainted  thus  with  fear  was  that  fareweP 
sacred  to  love  and  grief,  to  perfect  love  and  to  grief  tha* 
could  not  be  healed. 

O  Ahasuerus,  everlasting  Jew  !  *  fable    or    not  a  fable, 

*  ^' Ererlaating  JewT — De.r  ewige  Jude  —  which  is  the  common 
Gcniinn  expression  for  "  The  Wandering  Jew,"  and  sublimer  even 
than    onr  own. 


44  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

ihou,  when  first  starting  on  thy  endless  pilgrimage  of  woe, — • 
thou,  when  first  flying  through  the  gates  of  Jerusalem,  and 
vainly  yearning  to  leave  the  pin-suing  curse  behind  thee,  — 
couldst  not  more  certainly  in  the  words  of  Christ  have  read 
thy  doom  of  endless  sorrow,  than  I  when  passing  forever 
from  my  sister's  room.  The  worm  was  at  my  heart  ;  and, 
I  may  say,  the  worm  that  could  not  die.  Man  is  doubtless 
one  by  some  subtle  ?iexns,  some  system  of  links,  that  we 
cannot  perceive,  extending  from  the  new-born  infant  to  the 
superannuated  dotard  ;  but,  as  regards  many  affections  and 
passions  incident  to  his  nature  at  difi^erent  stages,  he  is  7iot 
one,  but  an  intermitting  creature,  ending  and  beginning 
anew  :  the  unity  of  man,  in  this  respect,  is  coextensive 
only  with  the  particular  stage  to  which  the  passion  belongs. 
Some  passions,  as  that  of  sexual  love,  are  celestial  by  one 
half  of  their  origin,  animal  and  earthly  by  the  other  half. 
These  will  not  survive  their  own  appropriate  stage.  But 
love,  which  is  aJtogcther  holy,  like  that  between  two 
children,  is  privileged  to  revisit  by  glimpses  the  silence  and 
the  darkness  of  declining  years  ;  and,  possibly,  this  final 
experience  in  my  sister's  bed  room,  or  some  other  in  which 
her  innocence  was  concerned,  may  rise  again  for  me  to 
illuminate  the  clouds  of  death. 

On  the  day  following  this  which  I  have  recorded  came 
a  body  of  medical  men  to  examine  the  brain  and  the  par- 
ticular nature  of  the  complaint,  for  in  some  of  its  symp- 
toms it  had  shown  perplexing  anomalies.  An  hour  after 
the  strangers  had  withdrawn,  I  crept  again  to  the  room  ; 
but  the  door  was  now  locked,  the  key  had  been  taken 
awav,  and  I  was  shut  out  forever. 

Then  came  the  funeral.  I,  in  the  ceremonial  chaj'acter 
of  mourner,  was  carried  thither.  I  was  put  into  a  carriage 
with  some  gentlemen  whom  I  did  not  know.  Thoy  were 
kind   and   attentive   to   me ;  but   naturally  they  talked   of 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    CHILDHOOD.  45 

things  disconnected  with  the  occasion,  and  their  conver- 
sation was  a  torment.  At  the  church,  I  was  told  to  hold 
a  wiiile  luuidkerchief  to  my  eyes.  Empty  hypocrisy  ! 
What  need  had  he  of  masks  or  mt)ckeries,  whose  heart 
died  within  him  at  every  word  that  was  uttered  }  During 
tliat  part  of  the  service  which  passed  within  the  church, 
1  made  an  effort  to  attend  ;  hut  I  sank  back  continually 
into  mj  own  solitary  darkness,  and  I  heard  little  con- 
sciously, except  some  fugitive  strains  from  the  sublime 
cha|it(r  of  St.  Paul,  which  in  England  is  always  read  at 
burials.* 

Lastly  came  that  magnificent  liturgical  service  which 
the  English  church  performs  at  the  side  of  the  grave  ; 
for  this  church  docs  not  forsake  her  dead  so  long  as  they 
continue  in  the  upper  air,  but  waits  for  her  last  "sweet 
and  solemn  t  farewell "  at  the  side  of  the  grave.  There  is 
exposed  once  again,  and  for  the  last  time,  the  coffin.  All 
eyes  survey  the  record  of  name,  of  sex,  of  age,  and  the 
day  of  departure  from  earth —  records  how  shadowy  !  and 
dropped  into  darkness  as  if  messages  addressed  to  worms. 
Almost  at  the  very  last  comes  the  symbolic  ritual,  tearing 
and  shattering  the  heart  with  volleying  discharges,  peal 
after  peal,  from  the  final  artillery  of  woe.  The  coffin  is 
lowered  into  its  home  ;  it  has  disappeared  from  all  eyes 
but  those  that  look  down  into  the  abyss  of  the  grave. 
The  sacristan  stands  ready,  with  his  shovel  of  earth  and 
stones.     The  priest's  voice  is  heard  once  more, —  earth  to 

*  First  Epistle  to  Corinthians,  chap,  xv.,  beginning  at  ver.  20. 

t  This  beautiful  expression,  I  am  pretty  certain,  must  belong  to 
]\Irs.  Trollope  ;  I  read  it,  probably,  in  a  tale  of  hers  connected  with 
the  backwoods  of  America,  where  the  absence  of  such  a  farewell 
must  unspealcably  aggravate  the  gloom  at  any  rate  belonging  to  a 
household  separation  of  that  eternal  character  occurring  amongst  the 
shadows  of  those  mighty  forests. 


46  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

earth,  —  and  immediately  the  dread  rattle  ascends  from  the 
lid  of  the  coffin  ;  ashes  to  ashes  —  and  again  the  killing 
sound  is  heard  ;  dust  to  dust  —  and  the  farewell  volley  an- 
nounces that  the  grave,  the  coffin,  the  face  are  sealed  up 
forever  and  ever. 

Grief !  thou  art  classed  amongst  the  depressing  passions. 
And  true  it  is  that  thou  humblest  to  the  dust,  but  also 
thou  exaltest  to  the  clouds.  Thou  shakest  as  with  ague, 
but  also  thou  steadiest  like  frost.  Thou  sickenest  the 
heart,  but  also  lliou  healest  its  infirmities.  Among  the 
very  foremost  of  mine  was  morbid  sensibility  to  shame. 
And,  ten  years  afterwards,  I  used  to  throw  my  self- 
reproaches  with  regard  to  that  infirmity  into  this  shape, 
viz.,  that  if  I  were  summoned  to  seek  aid  for  a  perishing 
fellow-creature,  and  that  I  could  obtain  that  aid  only  by 
facing  a  vast  company  of  critical  or  sneering  faces,  I 
might,  perhaps,  shrink  basely  from  the  duty.  It  is  time 
that  no  such  case  had  ever  actually  occurred  ;  so  that  it 
was  a  mere  romance  of  casuistry  to  tax  myself  with  cow- 
ardice so  shocking.  But,  to  feel  a  doubt,  was  to  feel  con- 
demnation ;  and  the  crime  that  might  have  been  was,  in 
my  eyes,  the  crime  that  had  been.  Now,  however,  all  was 
changed  ;  and  for  any  thing  which  regarded  my  sister's 
memory,  in  one  hour  I  received  a  new  heart.  Once  in 
Westmoreland  I  saw  a  case  resembling  it.  I  saw  a  ewe 
suddenly  put  off  and  abjure  her  own  nature,  in  a  service 
of  love  —  yes,  slough  it  as  completely  as  ever  serpent 
sloughed  his  skin.  Her  lamb  had  fallen  into  a  deep  trench, 
from  which  all  escape  was  hopeless  without  the  aid  of  man. 
And  to  a  man  she  advanced,  bleating  clamorously,  until 
he  followed  her  and  rescued  her  beloved.  Not  less  was 
the  change  in  myself.  Fifty  thousand  sneering  faces 
would  not  have  troubled  me  now  in  any  office  of  ten- 
derness to  my  sister's  memory.     Ten  legions  would  not 


THE    AFFLICTION    OF    CIULDIIOOD.  47 

liave  repelled  me  from  srM'king  lior,  if  there  had  been 
a  chance  that  she  could  be  found.  Mockery  !  it  was  lost 
u|)()n  me.  Laughter  !  I  valued  it  not.  And  when  I  was 
taunted  insultingly  with  "  my  girlish  tears,"  that  word 
'  girlish  "  had  no  sting  for  me,  except  as  a  verbal  echo 
to  the  one  eternal  thought  of  my  heart  —  that  a  girl  was 
the  sweetest  thing  which  I,  in  my  short  life,  had  known  ; 
that  a  girl  it  was  who  had  crowned  the  earth  with  beauty, 
and  had  opened  to  my  thirst  fountains  of  pure  celestial  love, 
from  which,  in  this  world,  I  was  to  tlrink  no  more. 

Now  began  to  unfold  themselves  the  consolations  of 
solitude,  those  consolations  which  only  I  was  destined  to 
taste  ;  now,  therefore,  began  to  open  upon  me  those  fasci- 
nations of  solitude,  which,  when  acting  as  a  co-agency  with 
unresisted  grief,  end  in  the  paradoxical  result  of  making 
out  of  grief  itself  a  luxuiy  ;  such  a  luxury  as  finally  be- 
comes a  snare,  overhanging  life  itself,  and  the  energies  of 
life,  with  growing  menaces.  All  deep  feelings  of  a  chronic 
class  agree  in  this,  that  they  seek  for  solitude,  and  are  fed 
by  solitude.  Deep  grief,  deep  love,  how  naturally  do  these 
ally  themselves  with  religious  feeling  I  and  all  three  — 
love,  grief,  religion  —  are  haunters  of  solitary  places. 
Love,  grief,  and  the  mystery  of  devotion,  —  what  were 
these  without  solitude  ?  All  day  long,  when  it  was  not 
impossible  for  me  to  do  so,  I  sought  the  most  silent  and 
sequestered  nooks  in  the  grounds  about  the  house  or  in  the 
neighboring  fields.  The  awful  stillness  oftentimes  of  sum- 
mer noons,  when  no  winds  were  abroad,  the  appealing 
silence  of  gray  or  misty  afternoons,  —  these  were  fascina- 
tions as  of  witchcraft.  Into  the  woods,  into  the  desert  air, 
I  gazed,  as  if  some  comfort  lay  hid  in  them.  I  wearied 
the  heavens  with  my  inquest  of  beseeching  looks.  Obsti- 
nately I  tormented  the  blue  depths  with  my  scrutiny, 
sweeping  them  forever  with  my  eyes,  and  searching  them 


48  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

for  one  angelic  face  that  might,  perhaps,  have  permission 
to  reveal   itself  for  a  moment. 

At  this  time,  and  under  this  impulse  of  rapacious  grief, 
that  grasped  at  what  it  could  not  obtain,  the  faculty  of 
shaping  images  in  the  distance  out  of  slight  elements,  and 
grouping  them  after  the  yearnings  of  the  heart,  grew  upon 
me  in  morbid  excess.  And  I  recall  at  the  present  moment 
one  instance  of  that  sort,  which  may  show  how  merely 
shadows,  or  a  gleam  of  brightness,  or  nothing  at  all,  could 
furnish  a  sufficient  basis  for  this  creative  faculty. 

On  Sunday  mornings  I  went  with  the  rest  of  my  fam- 
ily to  church:  it  was  a  church  on  the  ancient  model  of 
England,  having  aisles,  galleries,*  organ,  all  things  an- 
cient and  venerable,  and  the  proportions  majestic.  Here, 
whilst  the  congregation  knelt  through  the  long  litany,  as 
often  as  we  came  to  that  passage,  so  beautiful  amongst 
many  that  are  so,  where  God  is  supplicated  on  behalf  of 
"  all  sick  persons  and  young  children,"  and  that  he  would 
"  show  his  pity  upon  all  prisoners  and  captives,"  I  wept  in 
secret ;  and  raising  my  streaming  eyes  to  the  upper  win- 
dows of  the  galleries,  saw,  on  days  when  the  sun  was  shin- 
ing, a  spectacle  as  affecting  as  ever  prophet  can  have 
beheld.  The  sides  of  the  windows  were  rich  with  storied 
glass  ;  through  the  deep  pur])Ies  and  crimsons  streamed  the 
golden  light  ;  emblazonries  of  heavenly  illumination  (from 
the  sun)  mingling  with  the  earthly  emblazonries  (from  art 
and  its  gorgeous  coloring)  of  what  is  grandest  in  man. 
There  were  the  apostles  that  had  trampled  upon  earth,  and 
the  glories  of  earth,  out  of  celestial  love  to  man.      There 

*  "  GaJlei-ies."  —  These,  thougli  condemned  on  some  grounds  by 
the  restorers  of  authentic  church  arcliitccture,  have,  nevertheless, 
this  one  advantage  — that,  when  the  hciijhl  of  a  church  is  tliat  dimen- 
sion which  most  of  all  expresses  its  sacred  character,  galleries  ex 
pound  and  interpret  that  height. 


THK    AlKLICTION     OF    CHILUIIOOD.  49 

were  the  inrirtyrs  that  had  borne  witness  to  tlie  triitli  through 
flames,  tlirough  torments,  and  through  armies  of  fierce, 
insulting  faces.  There  were  the  saints  who,  under  intoler- 
able pangs,  had  glorified  God  by  meek  submission  to  liis 
will.  And  all  the  time,  whilst  this  tumult  of  sublime  me- 
morials held  on  as  tlie  deep  chords  from  some  accompani- 
ment in  the  bass,  I  saw  through  the  wide  central  field  of  the 
window,  where  the  glass  was  wwcolored,  white,  fleecy 
clouds  sailing  over  the  azure  depths  of  the  sky :  were  it 
but  a  fragment  or  a  liint  of  such  a  cloud,  immediately 
under  the  flash  of  my  sorrow-haunted  eye,  it  grew  and 
shaped  itself  into  visions  of  beds  with  white  lawny  curtains  ; 
and  in  the  beds  lay  sick  children,  dying  children,  that  were 
tossing  in  anguish,  and  weeping  clamorously  for  death. 
God,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  could  not  suddenly  re- 
lease them  from  their  pain ;  but  he  suffered  the  beds,  as  it 
seemed,  to  rise  slowly  through  the  clouds ;  slowly  the  beds 
ascended  into  the  chambers  of  the  air ;  slowly,  also,  his 
arms  descended  from  the  heavens,  that  he  and  his  young 
children,  whom  in  Palestine,  once  and  forever,  he  had 
blessed,  though  they  must  pass  slowly  through  the  dread- 
ful chasm  of  separation,  might  yet  meet  the  sooner.  These 
visions  were  self-sustained.  These  visions  needed  not 
that  any  sound  should  speak  to  me,  or  music  mould 
my  feelings.  The  hint  from  the  litany,  the  fragment 
from  the  clouds,  —  those  and  the  storied  windows  were 
suflicient.  But  not  the  less  the  blare  of  the  tumultuous  or- 
gan wrought  its  own  separate  creations.  And  oftentimes 
in  anthems,  when  the  mighty  instrument  threw  its  vast 
columns  of  sound,  fierce  yet  melodious,  over  the  voices  of 
the  choir,  —  high  in  arches,  when  it  seemed  to  rise,  sur- 
mounting and  overriding  the  strife  of  the  vocal  parts,  and 
gathering  by  strong  coercion  the  total  storm  into  unity,  — 
sometimes  I  seemed  to  rise  and  walk  triumphantly  upon 
4 


50  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

those  clou  is  which,  but  a  moment  before,  I  had  looked  up 
to  as  mementoes  of  prostrate  sorrow  ;  yes,  sometimes  under 
the  transfigurations  of  music,  felt  of  grief  itself  as  of  a 
fiery  chariot  for  mounting  victoriously  above  the  causes 
of  grief. 

God  speaks  to  children,  also,  in  dreams,  and  by  the 
oracles  that  lurk  in  darkness.  But  in  solitude,  above  all 
things,  when  made  vocal  to  the  meditative  heart  by  the 
truths  and  services  of  a  national  church,  God  holds  with 
children  "communion  undisturbed."  Solitude,  though  it 
may  be  silent  as  light,  is,  like  light,  the  mightiest  of 
agencies  ;  for  solitude  is  essential  to  man.  All  men  come 
into  this  world  alone  ;  all  leave  it  alone.  Even  a  little 
child  has  a  dread,  whispering  consciousness,  that,  if  he 
should  be  summoned  to  travel  into  God's  presence,  no 
gentle  nurse  will  be  allowed  to  lead  him  by  the  hand,  nor 
mother  to  carry  him  in  her  arms,  nor  little  sister  to  share 
his  trepidations.  King  and  priest,  warrior  and  maiden, 
philosopher  and  child,  all  must  walk  those  mighty  galleries 
alone.  The  solitude,  therefore,  which  in  this  world  appalls 
or  fascinates  a  child's  heart,  is  but  the  echo  of  a  far  deeper 
solitude,  through  which  already  he  has  passed,  and  of 
another  solitude,  deeper  still,  through  which  he  has  to  pass  : 
reflex  of  one  solitude  —  prefiguration  of  another. 

O  burden  of  solitude,  that  cleavest  to  man  through 
every  stage  of  his  being !  in  his  birth,  which  has  been  — 
in  his  life,  which  is  —  in  his  death,  which  shall  be  — 
mighty  and  essential  solitude  !  that  wast,  and  art,  and  art 
to  be ;  thou  broodest,  like  the  Spirit  of  God  moving  upon 
the  surface  of  the  deeps,  over  every  heart  that  sleeps  in 
the  nurseries  of  Christendom.  Like  the  vast  laboratory  of 
the  air,  which,  seeming  to  be  nothing,  or  less  than  the 
shadow  of  a  shade,  hides  within  itself  the  principles  of  all 
things,  solitude  for  the   meditating  child  is  the  Agrippa'a 


DREAM    ECHOES    OF    THESE    INFANT    EXPERIENCES.        51 

mirror  of  the  unseen  universe.  Deep  is  the  solitude  of 
millions  who,  with  hearts  welling  forth  love,  have  none  to 
love  them.  Deep  is  the  solitude  of  those  who,  under  secret 
griefs,  have  none  to  pity  them.  Deep  is  the  solitude  of 
those  wiio,  fighting  with  doubts  or  darkness,  have  none  to 
counsel  them.  But  deeper  than  the  deepest  of  these  soli- 
tudes is  that  which  broods  over  childhood  under  the  passion 
of  sorrow  —  bringing  before  it,  at  intervals,  the  final  soli- 
tude which  watches  for  it,  and  is  waiting  for  it  within  the 
gates  of  death.  O  mighty  and  essential  solitude,  that 
wast,  and  art,  and  art  to  be,  thy  kingdom  is  made  perfect 
in  the  grave  ;  but  even  over  those  that  keep  watch  outside 
the  grave,  like  myself,  an  infant  of  six  years  old,  thou 
Btretchest  out  a  sceptre  of  fascination. 


DREAM  ECHOES  OF   THESE   INFANT   EXPERIENCES. 

\Notice  to  the  reader. —  The  sun.  in  risinfj  or  setting,  would  produce 
little  effect  if  he  were  defrauded  of  his  rays  and  their  infinite  rever- 
berations. "  Seen  through  a  fog,"  says  Sara  Coleridge,  the  noble 
daughter  of  Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  "  the  golden,  beaming  sun 
looks  like  a  dull  orange,  or  a  red  billiard  ball."  —  Introcl.  to  Biorj.  Lit., 
p.  clxii.  And,  upon  this  same  analogy,  psychological  experiences  of 
deep  suffering  or  joy  first  attain  their  entire  fulness  of  expression 
when  they  are  reverberated  from  dreams.  The  reader  must,  there- 
fore, supfiosc  me  at  Oxford  ;  more  than  twelve  years  are  gone  by ;  I 
am  in  the  glory  of  youth  :  but  I  have  now  first  tampered  with  opium ; 
and  now  first  the  agitations  of  my  childhood  reopened  in  strength  ; 
no-.v  first  they  swept  in  upon  the  brain  with  power,  and  the  grandeur 
of  recovered  lif-.] 

Once  again,  after  twelve  years'  interval,  the  nursery  of 
my  childhood  expanded  before  me  :  my  sister  was  moaning 
in  bed  ;  and  I  was  beginning  to  be  restless  with  fears  not 


52  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

intelligible  to  myself.  Once  again  the  elder  L'.irse,  but  no^'v 
dilated  to  colossal  proportions,  stood  as  upon  some  Grecian 
stage  with  her  uplifted  hand,  and,  like  the  superb  Medea 
towering  amongst  her  children  in  the  nursery  at  Corinth,* 
smote  me  senseless  to  the  ground.  Again  I  am  in  the 
chamber  with  my  sister's  corpse,  again  the  pomps  of  life 
rise  up  in  silence,  the  glory  of  summer,  the  Syrian  sun- 
lights, the  frost  of  death.  Dream  forms  itself  mysteri- 
ously within  dream  ;  within  these  Oxford  dreams  remoulds 
itself  continually  the  trance  in  my  sister's  chamber  —  the 
blue  heavens,  the  everlasting  vault,  the  soaring  billows, 
the  throne  steeped  in  the  thought  (but  not  the  sight)  of 
"TT7/0  might  sit  thereon  ;"  the  flight,  the  pursuit,  the  irre- 
coverable steps  of  my  return  to  earth.  Once  more  the 
funeral  procession  gathers;  the  priest,  in  his  white  surplus, 
stands  waiting  with  a  book  by  the  side  of  an  open  grave  ; 
the  sacristan  is  waiting  wtth  his  shovel  ;  the  coffin  has  sunk ; 
the  dust  to  dust  has  descended.  Again  I  was  in  the  church 
on  a  heavenly  Sunday  morning.  The  golden  sunlight  of 
God  slept  amongst  the  heads  of  his  apostles,  his  martyrs, 
his  saints  ;  the  fragment  from  the  litany,  the  fragment  from 
the  clouds,  awoke  again  the  lawny  beds  that  went  up  to 
scale  the  heavens  —  awoke  again  the  shadowy  arms  that 
moved  downward  to  meet  them.  Once  again  arose  the 
swell  of  the  anthem,  the  burst  of  the  hallelujah  chorus, 
the  storm,  the  trampling  movement  of  the  choral  passion, 
the  agitation  of  my  own  trembling  sympathy,  the  tumult  of 
the  choir,  the  wrath  of  the  organ.  Once  more  1,  that 
wallowed  in  the  dust,  became  he  that  rose  up  to  the  clouds. 
And  now  all  was  b^und  up  into  unity  ;  the  first  state  and 
the  last  were  melted  into  each  other  as  in  some  sunny 
glorifying  haze.  For  high  in  heaven  hovered  a  gleaming 
host  of  faces,  veiled  with  wings,  around  the  pillows  of  the 

*  Euripides. 


DHEAM    ECHOES    FIFTY    YEARS    LATER.  53 

dying  children.  And  such  beings  sympathize  equally  with 
sorrow  that  grovels  and  with  sorrow  that  soars.  Such 
beings  pity  alike  the  children  that  are  languishing  in  death, 
and  the  children  that  live  only  to  languish  in  tears. 


DREAM  ECHOES   FIFTY   YEARS   LATER. 

[In  this  instance  the  eclioes,  that  rendered  back  the  infant  experi- 
ence, mij,'ht  be  interpreted  bj-  the  reader  as  connected  with  a  real 
ascent  of  the  Brocken ;  which  was  not  the  case.  It  was  an  ascent 
through  all  its  circumstances  executed  in  dreams,  which,  under  ad- 
vanced staj^es  in  the  development  of  opium,  rejieat  with  marvellous 
accuracy  the  longest  succession  of  phenomena  derived  either  from 
readinj^  or  from  actual  experience.  That  softening  and  s|)iritualizing 
haze  which  belongs  at  an}'  rate  to  the  action  of  dreams,  and  to  tho 
transfigurings  woiked  upon  troubled  reniemi)rances  by  retrospects  so 
vast  as  those  of  fifty  years,  was  in  this  instance  greatly  aided  to  my 
own  feelings  by  the  alliance  with  the  ancient  phantom  of  the  forest 
mountain  in  North  Germany.  The  playfulness  of  the  scene  is  the 
very  evoker  of  the  solemn  remembrances  that  lie  hidden  below. 
The  half-sportive  interlusory  revealings  of  the  symbolic  tend  to  the 
same  effect.  One  part  of  the  effect  from  the  symbolic  is  dependent 
upon  the  great  catholic  principle  of  the  Idem  in  alio.  The  symbol 
restores  the  theme,  but  under  new  combinations  of  form  or  coloring; 
gives  back,  but  changes ;  restores,  but  idealizes.] 

Ascend  with  me  on  this  dazzling  Whitsunday  the 
Brocken  of  North  Germany.  The  dawn  opened  in  cloud- 
less beauty  ;  it  is  a  dawn  of  bridal  June  ;  but,  as  the 
hours  advanced,  her  youngest  sister  April,  that  sometimes 
cares  little  for  racing  across  both  frontiers  of  May,  —  the 
rearward  frontier,  and  the  vanward  frontier,  —  frets  the 
bridal  lady's  sunny  temper  with  sallies  of  wheeling  and 
careering  showers,  flying  and  pursuing,  opening  and  clos- 
ing,   hiding    and    restoring.       On    such    a    morning,    and 


54  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

reaching  the  summits  of  the  forest  mountain  about  sun- 
rise, we  shall  have  one  chance  the  more  for  seeing  the 
famous  Spectre  of  the  Brocken.*     Who  and  what  is  he  ? 

*  "  Spectre  of  the  Broclxn." —  This  very  striking  phenomenon  has 
been  continually  described  by  writers,  both  German  and  English,  for 
the  last  fifty  years.  Many  readers,  however,  will  not  have  met  with 
these  descriptions ;  and  on  their  account  I  add  a  few  words  in  expla- 
nation, referring  them  for  the  best  scientific  comment  on  the  case  to 
Sir  David  Brewster's  "  Katural  Magic."  The  spectre  takes  the  sliape 
of  a  human  figure,  or,  if  the  visitors  are  more  than  one,  then  the 
spectres  multiply  ;  they  arrange  themselves  on  the  blue  ground  of 
the  sky,  or  the  dark  ground  of  any  clouds  that  may  be  in  the  right 
quarter,  or  jierhaps  they  are  strongly  relieved  against  a  curtain  of 
rock,  at  a  distance  of  some  miles  and  always  exhibiting  gigantic 
proportions.  At  first,  from  the  distance  and  the  colossal  size,  every 
spectator  supposes  the  appearances  to  be  quite  independent  of  him- 
self But  very  soon  he  is  surprised  to  observe  his  own  motions  and 
gestures  mimicked,  and  wakens  to  the  conviction  that  the  phantom 
is  but  a  dilated  reflection  of  himself.  This  Titan  amongst  the  ap])a- 
ritions  of  earth  is  exceedingly  capricious,  vanishing  abrujjtly  for 
reasons  best  known  to  himself,  and  more  coy  in  coming  forward  than 
the  Lady  Echo  of  Ovid.  One  reason  why  he  is  seen  so  seldom  must 
be  ascribed  to  the  concurrence  of  conditions  under  which  only  the 
phenomenon  can  be  manifested ;  the  sun  must  be  near  to  the  horizon, 
(which,  of  itself,  implies  a  time  of  day  inconvenient  to  a  person  start- 
ing from  a  station  as  distant  as  Elbingerode ;)  the  spectator  must 
have  his  back  to  the  sun  ;  and  the  air  must  contain  some  vapor,  but 
partially  distributed.  Coleridge  ascended  the  Brocken  on  the  Whit- 
sunday of  1799,  with  a  party  of  English  students  from  Goettingen, 
but  failed  to  see  the  phantom  ;  afterwards  in  England  (and  under  the 
three  same  conditions)  he  saw  a  much  rarer  phenomenon,  which  he 
described  in  the  following  lines  :  — 

"  Sucli  thou  art  as  when 
The  woodman  winding  westward  up  the  glen 
At  wintry  dawn,  when  o'er  the  sheep-track's  maze 
The  viewless  snow  mist  weaves  a  glistening  haze, 
Sees  full  before  him,  gliding  without  tread, 
An  image  with  a  glory  round  its  head ; 
This  shade  he  worships  for  its  golden  hues, 
And  imifces  (not  knowing)  that  wliich  he  pursues." 


DREAM    ECHOES    FIFTY    YEARS    LATER.  55 

He  is  a  solitary  apparition,  in  the  sense  of  loving  solitude; 
else  he  is  not  always  solitary  in  his  personal  manifestations, 
but,  on  proper  occasions,  has  been  known  to  unmask  a 
strength  quite  suflicient  to  alarm  those  who  had  been 
insulting  him. 

Now,  in  order  to  test  the  nature  of  this  mysterious 
apparition,  we  will  try  two  or  three  experiments  upon 
him.  What  we  fear,  and  with  some  reason,  is,  that,  as  he 
lived  so  many  ages  with  foul  pagan  sorcerers,  and  wit- 
nessed so  many  centuries  of  dark  idolatries,  his  heart  may 
have  been  corrupted,  and  that  even  now  his  faith  may  be 
wavering  or  impure.     We  will  try. 

Make  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  observe  whether  he 
repeats  it,  (as  on  Wliitsunday*  he  surely  ought  to  do.) 
Look  !  he  does  repeat  it ;  but  those  driving  April  showers 
perplex  the  images,  and  that.,  perhaps,  it  is  which  gives 
him  the  air  of  one  who  acts  reluctantly  or  evasively. 
Now,  again,  the  sun  shines  more  brightly,  and  the  showers 
have  all  swept  ofl'  like  squadrons  of  cavalry  to  the  rear. 
We  will  try  him  again. 

Pluck  an  anemone,  one  of  these  many  anemones  which 
once  was  called  the  sorcerer's  flower,t  and  bore  a  part, 
perhaps,  in  this  horrid  ritual  of  fear;  carry  it  to  that 
stone  which  mimics  the  outline  of  a  heathen  altar,  and 
once  was  called  the  sorcerer's  altar  ;t  then,  bending  your 

*  "  On  Wliitsundmj."  —  It  is  singular,  and  perhaps  owing  to  the 
temperature  and  weather  likely  to  prevail  in  that  early  part  of  sum- 
nier,  that  more  appearances  of  the  spectre  have  been  witnessed  oa 
Whitsunday  than  on  any  other  day. 

t  "  The  sorcerer's  jlower"  and  "  The  sorcerer's  altar.'''  —  These  are 
names  still  clinging  to  the  anemone  of  the  Brocken,  and  to  an  altar- 
shaped  fragment  of  granite  near  one  of  the  summits;  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that  thej'  both  connect  themselves,  through  links  of  ancient 
tradition,  with  the  gloomy  realities  of  paganism,  when  the  whole 
Hartz  and  the  Brocken  formed  for  a  very  long  time  the  last  asylum 
to  a  ferocious  but  perishing  idolatry. 


56  AITTOBTOGRAFHIC     SKETCHES. 

knee,  and  raising  your  right  hand  to  God,  say,  "  Fathei 
which  art  in  heaven,  this  lovely  anemone,  that  once  glori- 
fied the  worship  of  fear,  has  travelled  back  into  thv  fold  ; 
this  altar,  which  once  reeked  with  bloody  rites  to  Cortho, 
has  long  been  rebaptized  into  thy  holy  service.  The 
darkness  is  gone  ;  the  cruelty  is  gone  which  the  darkness 
bred  ;  the  moans  have  passed  away  which  the  victims  ut- 
tered ;  the  cloud  has  vanished  which  once  sat  continually 
upon  their  graves  —  cloud  of  protestation  that  ascended  for- 
ever to  thy  throne  from  the  tears  of  the  defenceless,  and 
from  the  anger  of  the  just.  And  lo  !  we —  I  thy  servant, 
and  this  dark  phantom,  whom  for  one  hour  on  this  thy  fes- 
tival of  Pentecost  I  make  my  servant  —  render  thee  united 
worship  in  this  thy  recovered  temple." 

Lo  !  the  apparition  plucks  an  anemone,  and  places  it  on 
the  altar;  he  also  bends  his  knee,  he  also  raises  his  right 
hand  to  God.  Dumb  he  is  ;  but  sometimes  the  dumb  ser\'e 
God  acceptably.  Yet  still  it  occurs  to  you,  that  perhaps  on 
this  high  festival  of  the  Christian  church  he  may  have  been 
overruled  by  supernatural  influence  into  confession  of  his 
homage,  having  so  often  been  made  to  bow  and  bend  his 
knee  at  murderous  rites.  In  a  service  of  religion  he  may 
be  timid.  Let  us  Xry  him,  therefore,  with  an  earthly  pas- 
sion, where  he  will  have  no  bias  either  from  favor  or 
from  fear. 

If,  then,  once  in  childhood  you  suffered  an  affliction  that 
was  ineffable,  —  if  once,  when  powerless  to  face  such  an 
enemy,  you  were  summoned  to  fight  with  the  tiger  that 
couches  within  the  separations  of  the  grave,  —  in  that  case, 
after  the  example  of  Judaea,*  sitting  under  her  palm  tree  to 
weep,  but  sitting  with  her  head  veiled,  do  you  also  veil 
your  head.     Many  years  are  passed  away  since  then  ;  and 

*  On  the  Roman  coins. 


DREAM     ECHOES    FIFTY    YEARS    LATER.  57 

perhaps  you  were  a  little  ignorant  thing  at  that  time,  hardly 
above  six  years  old.  But  your  heart  was  deeper  than  the 
Danube  ;  and,  as  was  your  love,  so  was  your  grief.  Many 
years  are  gone  since  that  darkness  settled  on  your  head ; 
many  summers,  many  winters  ;  yet  still  its  shadows  wheel 
round  upon  you  at  intervals,  like  these  April  showers  upon 
tliis  glory  of  bridal  June.  Therefore  now,  on  this  dove- 
like morning  of  Pentecost,  do  you  veil  your  head  like 
Judaea  in  memory  of  that  transcendent  woe,  and  in  testi- 
mony that,  indeed,  it  surpassed  all  utterance  of  words. 
Immediately  you  see  that  the  apparition  of  the  Brocken 
veils  his  head,  after  the  model  of  Judaea  weeping  under 
her  palm  tree,  as  if  he  also  had  a  human  heart ;  and  as  if 
he  also,  in  childhood,  having  suffered  an  affliction  which 
was  ineffable,  wished  by  these  mute  symbols  to  breathe  a 
sigh  towards  heaven  in  memon,'  of  that  transcendent  woe, 
and  by  way  of  record,  though  many  a  year  after,  that  it 
was  indeed  unutterable  by  words. 


CHAPTER    II. 
INTRODUCTION   TO   THE   WORLD   OF   STRIPE. 

So,  then,  one  chapter  in  my  life  had  finished.  Already, 
before  the  completion  of  my  sixth  year,  this  first  chapter 
had  run  its  circle,  had  rendered  up  its  music  to  the  final 
chord — might  seem  even,  like  ripe  fruit  from  a  tree,  to 
have  detached  itself  forever  from  all  the  rest  of  the  arras 
that  was  shaping  itself  within  my  loom  of  life.  No  Eden 
of  lakes  and  forest  lawns,  such  as  the  mirage  suddenly 
evokes  in  Arabian  sands,  —  no  pageant  of  air-built  battle- 
ments and  towers,  that  ever  burned  in  dream-like  silence 
amongst  the  vapors  of  summer  sunsets,  mocking  and 
repeating  with  celestial  pencil  "  the  fuming  vanities  of 
earth,"  —  could  leave  behind  it  the  mixed  impression  of  so 
much  truth  combined  with  so  much  absolute  delusion. 
Truest  of  all  things  it  seemed  by  the  excess  of  that  happi- 
ness which  it  had  sustained  :  most  fraudulent  it  seemed  of 
all  things,  when  looked  back  upon  as  some  mysterious 
parenthesis  in  the  current  of  life,  "  self-withdrawn  into  a 
wonderous  depth,"  hurrying  as  if  whh  headlong  malice  to 
extinction,  and  alienated  by  every  feature  from  the  new 
aspects  of  life  that  seemed  to  await  me.  Were  it  not  in 
the  bitter  corrosion  of  heart  that  I  was  called  upon  to  face, 
I  should  have  carried  over  to  the  present  no  connecting  link 

58 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  59 

whatever  from  the  past.  Mere  reality  in  this  fretting  it 
was,  and  the  iind  iniablent- ss  of  its  too  potent  remembmnces, 
tliat  forbade  mc  to  regard  this  burned-out  inaugural  chapter 
of  my  life  as  no  chapier  at  all,  but  a  pure  exhalation  of 
dreams.  Misery  is  a  guaraniy  of  truth  too  substantial  to 
be  refused  ;  else,  by  its  determinate  evanescence,  the  total 
experience  would  have  worn  the  character  of  a  fantastic 
illusion. 

Well  it  was  for  me  at  this  period,  if  well  it  were  for  me 
to  live  at  all,  that  from  any  continued  contemplation  of  my 
misery  1  was  forced  to  wean  myself,  and  suddenly  to 
assume  the  harness  of  life.  Else  under  the  morbid  lan- 
guishing of  grief,  and  of  wha'  the  Romans  called  dcsideriuin^ 
(the  yearning  too  obstinatt  after  one  irrecoverable  face,) 
too  probably  1  should  have  pmed  away  into  an  early  grave. 
Harsh  was  my  awaking;  but  the  rough  febrifuge  which 
this  awaking  administered  broke  the  strength  of  my  sickly 
reveries  through  a  period  of  more  than  two  years ;  by 
which  time,  under  the  natura.  expansion  of  my  bodily 
strength,  the  danger  had  passed  over. 

In  the  first  chapter  I  have  rendered  solemn  thanks  foi 
liaving  been  trained  amongst  the  gentlest  of  sisters,  and  not 
imder  "  horrid  pugilistic  brothers."  Meantime,  one  such 
brother  1  had,  senior  by  much  to  myself,  and  the  stormiest 
of  his  class  :  him  1  will  immediately  present  to  the  reader  ; 
for  up  to  this  point  of  my  narrative  he  may  be  described  as 
a  stranger  even  to  myself.  Odd  as  it  sounds,  I  had  at  this 
time  both  a  brother  and  a  father,  neither  of  whom  would 
have  been  able  to  challenge  me  as  a  relative,  nor  I  him, 
had  we  happened  to  meet  on  the  public  roads. 

In  my  father's  case,  this  arose  from  the  accident  of  his 
having  lived  abroad  for  a  space  that,  measured  against  7iiy 
life,  was  a  very  long  one.  First,  he  lived  for  months  in 
Portugal,  at  Lisbon,  and  at  Cintra  ;  next  in  Madeira  ;  then 


GO  AUTOBIOGKAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

in  the  West  Indies  ;  sometimes  in  Jamaica,  sometimes  in 
St.  Kilt's;  courting  the  supposed  benefit  of  hot  climates  in 
his  complaint  of  pulmonary  consumption.  He  had,  indeed, 
repeatedly  returned  to  England,  and  met  my  mother  at 
watering-places  on  the  south  coast  of  Devonshire,  &c. 
But  I,  as  a  younger  child,  had  not  been  one  of  the  party 
selected  for  such  excursions  from  home.  And  now,  at  last, 
when  all  had  proved  unavailing,  he  was  coming  home  to 
die  amongst  his  family,  in  his  thirty-ninth  year.  My 
mother  had  gone  to  await  his  arrival  at  the  port  (whatever 
port)  to  which  the  West  India  packet  should  bring  him  ; 
and  amongst  the  deepest  recollections  which  I  connect 
with  that  period,  is  one  derived  from  the  night  of  his 
arrival  at  Greenhay. 

It  was  a  summer  evening  of  unusual  solemity.  The 
servants,  and  four  of  us  children,  were  gathered  for  hours, 
on  the  lawn  before  the  house,  listening  for  the  sound  of 
wheels.  Sunset  came  —  nine,  ten,  eleven  o'clock,  and 
nearly  another  hour  had  passed  —  without  a  warning  sound  ; 
for  Greenhay,  being  so  solitaiy  a  house,  formed  a  terminus 
ad  quern,  beyond  which  was  nothing  but  a  cluster  of  cot- 
tages, composing  the  little  hamlet  of  Greenhill  ;  so  that  any 
sound  of  wheels  coming  from  the  winding  lane  which  then 
connected  us  with  the  Eusholme  Road,  carried  with  it,  of 
necessity,  a  warning  summons  to  prepare  for  visitors  at 
Greenhay.  No  such  summons  had  yet  reached  us;  it  was 
nearly  midnight;  and,  for  the  last  time,  it  was  determined 
that  we  should  mo\e  in  a  body  out  of  the  grounds,  on  the 
chance  of  meeting  the  travelling  party,  if,  at  so  late  an 
hour,  it  could  yet  be  expected  to  arrive.  In  fact,  to  our 
general'surprise,  we  met  it  almost  immediately,  but  coming 
at  so  slow  a  pace,  that  the  fall  of  the  horses'  feet  was  not 
audible  until  we  were  close  upon  them.  I  mention  the 
case    for    the    sake    of    the    undying    impressions    which 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    "WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  Gl 

connected  themselves  with  the  circumstances.  The  first 
notice  of  the  approach  was  the  sudden  emerging  of  horses' 
heads  from  the  deep  gloom  of  the  shady  lane  ;  the  next 
was  the  mass  of  white  pillows  against  which  the  dying 
patient  was  reclining.  The  hearse-like  pace  at  which  the 
carriage  moved  recalled  the  overwhelming  spectacle  of 
that  funeral  which  had  so  lately  formed  part  in  the  most 
memorahle  event  of  my  life.  But  these  elements  of  awe, 
that  might  at  any  rate  have  struck  forcibly  upon  the  mind 
of  a  child,  were  for  me,  in  my  condition  of  morbid 
nervousness,  raised  into  abiding  grandeur  by  the  antecedent 
experiences  of  that  particular  summer  night.  The  listen- 
ing for  hours  to  the  sounds  from  horses'  hoofs  upon  distant 
roads,  rising  and  falling,  caught  and  lost,  upon  the  gentle 
undulation  of  such  fitful  airs  as  might  be  stirring  —  the 
peculiar  solemnity  of  the  hours  succeeding  to  sunset  —  the 
gloiy  of  the  dying  day  —  the  gorgeousness  which,  by 
description,  so  well  I  knew  of  sunset  in  those  West  Indian 
islands  from  which  my  father  was  returning — the  knowl- 
edge tiiat  he  returned  only  to  die  —  the  almighty  pomp  in 
which  this  great  idea  of  Death  apparelled  itself  to  my 
young  sorrowing  heart  —  the  corresponding  pomp  in  which 
the  antagonistic  idea,  not  less  mysterious,  of  life,  rose,  as 
if  on  wings,  amidst  tropic  glories  and  floral  pagean.ries 
that  seemed  even  more  solemn  and  pathetic  than  the 
vapory  plumes  and  trophies  of  mortality,  —  all  this  chorus 
of  restless  images,  or  of  suggestive  thoughts,  gave  to  my 
father's  return,  which  else  had  been  fitted  only  to  interpose 
one  transitory  red-letter  day  in  the  calendar  of  a  child,  the 
shadowy  power  of  an  ineffaceable  agency  among  my 
dreams.  This,  indeed,  w^as  the  one  sole  memoiial  which 
restores  my  father's  image  to  me  as  a  persona!  reality ; 
otherwise  he  would  have  been  for  me  a  bare  nominis 
umbra.     He   languished,  indeed,  for  weeks   upon  a   sofa  ; 


62  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

and,  during  that  interval,  it  happened  naturally,  from  my 
repose  of  manners,  that  I  was  a  privileged  visitor  to  him 
throughout  his  waking  hours.  I  was  also  present  at  his 
bedside  in  the  closing  hour  of  his  life,  which  exhaled  quiet- 
ly, amidst  snatches  of  delirious  conversation  with  some 
imaginary'  visitors. 

JMy  brother  was  a  stranger  from  causes  quite  as  little  to 
be  foreseen,  but  seeming  quite  as  natural  after  they  had 
really  occurred.  In  an  early  stage  of  his  career,  he  had 
been  found  wholly  unmanageable.  His  genius  for  mis- 
chief amounted  to  inspiration  ;  it  was  a  divine  affnius 
which  drove  him  in  that  d'rection  ;  and  such  was  his  ca- 
pacity for  riding  in  whirlwinds  and  directing  storms,  that 
he  made  it  his  trade  to  create  them,  as  a  isiprh^yFoFTu 
Zev;,  a  cloud-compelling  Jove,  in  order  that  he  might  di- 
rect them.  For  this,  and  other  reasons,  he  had  been  sent 
to  the  Grammar  School  of  Louth,  in  Lincolnshire  —  one 
of  those  many  old  classic  institutions  which  form  the  pecu- 
liar* glory  of  England.  To  box,  and  to  box  under  the 
severest  restraint  of  honorable  laws,  was  in  those  days  a 
mere  necessity  of  schoolboy  life  at  public  schools;  and 
hence  the  superior  manliness,  generosity,  and  self-control 
of  those  generally  who  had  benefited  by  such  discipline  — 
so  systematically  hostile  to  all  meanness,  pusillanimity,  or 
indirectness.  Cowper,  in  his  "  Tyrocinium,"  is  far  from 
doing  justice  to  our  great  public  schools.     Himself  disqual- 

*  ^^  Pcndidr."  —  Viz.,  as  endowed  {oanAat'ions  to  which  those  resort 
who  are  rich  and  pay,  and  those  also  who,  being  poor,  cannot  pay, 
or  cannot  pay  so  much.  This  most  honorable  distinction  amongst 
the  services  of  Enghind  from  ancient  times  to  the  interests  of  educa 
lion  —  a  service  absohitely  unapproadied  tiy  any  one  nation  of  Chris- 
tendom —  is  anionpst  the  foremost  cases  of  that  remarkable  class 
which  make  England,  whilst  often  the  most  aristocratic,  yet  also  for 
many  noble  purposes,  the  most  democratic  of  lands. 


INTKODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  G3 

ified,  by  delicacy  of  temperament,  for  reaping  the  benefits 
from  such  a  warfare,  and  having  suffered  too  much  in  his 
own  Westminster  experience,  he  could  not  judge  tliem 
from  an  impartial  station  ;  but  I,  though  ill  enough  adapted 
to  an  atmosphere  so  stormy,  yet  having  tried  both  classes 
of  schools,  public  and  private,  am  compelled  in  mere  con- 
science to  give  my  vote  (and,  if  I  had  ar  thousand  votes,  to 
give  all  my  votes)  for  the  former. 

Fresh  from  such  a  training  as  this,  and  at  a  time  when 
his  additional  five  or  six  years  availed  nearly  to  make  his 
age  the  double  of  mine,  my  brother  very  naturally  de- 
spised me ;  and,  from  his  exceeding  frankness,  he  took  no 
pains  to  conceal  that  he  did.  Why  should  he  ?  Who  was 
it  that  could  have  a  right  to  feel  aggrieved  by  his  con- 
tempt? Who,  if  not  myself?  But  it  happened,  on  the 
contrary,  that  I  had  a  perfect  craze  for  being  despised.  I 
doted  on  it,  and  considered  contempt  a  sort  of  luxury  that 
I  was  in  continual  fear  of  losing.  Why  not?  Wherefore 
should  any  rational  person  shrink  from  contempt,  if  it  hap- 
pen to  form  the  tenure  by  which  he  holds  his  repose  in 
life?  The  cases  which  are  cited  from  comedy  of  such  a 
yearning  after  contempt,  stand  upon  a  footing  altogether 
different  :i/if re  the  contempt  is  wooed  as  a  serviceable  ally 
and  tool  of  religious  hypocrisy.  But  to  me,  at  that  era 
of  life,  it  formed  the  main  guaranty  of  an  unmolested 
repose  ;  and  security  there  was  not,  on  any  lower  terms, 
for  the  latentis  semita  vitce.  The  slightest  approach  to 
any  favorable  construction  of  my  intellectual  pretensions 
alarmed  me  beyond  measure;  because  it  pledged  me  in  a 
manner  with  the  hearer  to  support  this  first  attempt  by  a 
second,  by  a  third,  by  a  fourth  —  O  Heavens!  there  is  no 
sayinii  how  far  the  horrid  man  might  go  in  his  unreason- 
able demands  upon  me.  1  groaned  under  the  weight  of 
his  expectations;  ard,  if  I  laid  but  the  first  round  of  such  a 


64  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Staircase,  why,  then,  I  saw  in  vision  a  vast  Jacob's  ladder 
towering  upwards  to  the  clouds,  mile  after  mile,  league 
after  league  ;  and  myself  running  up  and  down  this  ladder, 
like  any  fatigue  party  of  Irish  hodmen,  to  the  top  of  any 
Babel  which  my  wretched  admirer  might  choose  to  build. 
But  I  nipped  the  abominable  system  of  extortion  in  the 
very  bud,  by  refusing  to  take  the  first  step.  The  man 
could  have  no  pretence,  you  know,  for  expecting  me  to 
climb  the  third  or  fourth  round,  when  I  had  seemed  quite 
unequal  to  the  first.  Professing  the  most  absolute  bank- 
ruptcy from  the  very  beginning,  giving  the  man  no  sort  of 
hope  that  I  would  pay  even  one  farthing  in  the  pound,  I 
never  could  be  made  miserable  by  unknown  respon- 
sibilities. 

Still,  with  all  this  passion  for  being  despised,  which  was 
so  essential  to  my  peace  of  mind,  I  found  at  times  an  alti- 
tude—  a  starry  altitude  —  in  the  station  of  contempt  for 
me  assumed  by  my  brother  that  nettled  me.  Sometimes, 
indeed,  the  mere  necessities  of  dispute  carried  me,  before 
I  was  aware  of  my  own  imprudence,  so  far  up  the  stair- 
case of  Babel,  that  my  brother  was  shaken  for  a  moment 
in  the  infinity  of  his  contempt ;  and  before  long,  when  my 
superiority  in  some  bookish  accomplishments  displayed  it- 
self, by  results  that  could  not  be  entirely  dissembled,  mere 
foolish  human  nature  forced  me  into  some  trifle  of  exuha- 
tion  at  these  retributory  triumphs.  But  more  often  I  was 
disposed  to  grieve  over  them.  They  tended  to  shake  that 
solid  foundation  of  utter  despicableness  upon  which  I  relied 
so  much  for  my  freedom  from  anxiety ;  and  therefore, 
upon  the  whole,  it  was  satisfactory  to  my  mind  that  my 
brother's  opinion  of  me,  after  any  little  transient  oscillation, 
gravitated  determinately  back  towards  that  settled  con- 
tempt which  had  been  the  result  of  his  original  inquest. 
The  pillars  of  Hercules,  upon  which  rested  the  vust  edifice 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  C5 

of  liis  scorn,  were  these  two — 1st,  my  physics;  he  de- 
nounced me  for  effeminacy  :  2d,  he  assumed,  and  even 
postulated  as  a  datum,  which  I  myself  could  never  have 
the  face  to  refuse,  my  general  idiocy.  Physically,  there- 
fore, and  intellectually,  he  looked  upon  me  as  below  no- 
tice ;  but,  morally,  he  assured  me  that  he  would  give  me  a 
written  character  of  the  very  best  description,  whenever  I 
chose  to  apply  for  it.  "  You're  honest,"  he  said  ;  "  you're 
willing,  though  lazy;  you  would  pull,  if  you  had  the 
strength  of  a  flea  ;  and,  though  a  monstrous  coward,  you 
don't  run  away."  My  own  demurs  to  these  harsh  judg- 
ments were  not  so  many  as  they  might  have  been.  The 
idiocy  I  confessed  ;  because,  though  positive  that  I  was  not 
uniformly  an  idiot,  I  felt  inclined  to  think  that,  in  a  major- 
ity of  cases,  I  really  was  ;  and  there  were  more  reasons 
for  thinking  so  than  the  reader  is  yet  aware  of.  But,  as  to 
the  effeminacy,  I  denied  it  in  toto ;  and  with  good  reason, 
as  will  be  seen.  Neither  did  my  brother  pretend  to  have 
any  experimental  proofs  of  it.  The  ground  he  went  upon 
was  a  mere  a  priori  one,  viz.,  that  I  had  always  been  tied 
to  the  apron  string  of  women  or  girls;  which  amounted  at 
most  to  this  —  that,  by  training  and  the  natural  tendency 
of  circumstances,  I  ought  to  be  effeminate  ;  that  is,  there 
was  reason  to  expect  beforehand  that  I  sJiouhl  be  so ;  but, 
then,  the  more  merit  in  me,  if,  in  spite  of  such  ieasonable 
presumptions,  I  really  were  not.  In  fact,  my  b. other  soon 
learned,  by  a  daily  experience,  how  entirely  he  might  de- 
pend upon  me  for  carrying  out  the  most  audacious  cf  his 
own  warlike  plans  —  such  plans,  it  is  true,  that  I  abomi- 
nated ;  but  that  made  no  difference  in  the  fidelity  with 
which  I  tried  to  fulfil  them. 

This   eldest   brother  of  mine  was  in  all  respects  a  re- 
markable boy.      Haughty  he  was,  aspiring,  immeasurably 
active;   fertile  in  resources  as  Ebinson  Crusoe;   but  alsf 
5 


G5  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

full  of  quarrel  as  it  is  possible  to  imagine  ;  and,  in  defruilt 
of  any  other  opponent,  he  would  have  fastened  a  quarrel 
upon  his  own  shadow  for  presuming  to  run  before  him 
when  going  westwards  in  the  morning,  whereas,  in  all  rea- 
son, a  shadow,  like  a  dutiful  child,  ought  to  keep  deferen- 
tially in  the  rear  of  that  majestic  substance  which  is  the 
autho;  of  its  existence.  Books  he  detested,  one  and  all, 
excepting  only  such  as  he  happened  to  write  himse.f. 
And  .hese  were  not  a  few.  On  all  subjects  known  to  man, 
from  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of  our  English  church  down 
to  pyrotechnics,  legerdemain,  magic,  both  black  and  white, 
thaumaturgy,  and  necromancy,  he  favored  the  world 
(which  world  was  the  nursery  where  I  lived  amongst  my 
sisters)  with  his  select  opinions.  On  this  last  subject  es- 
pecially—  of  necromancy  —  he  was  very  great:  witness 
his  profound  work,  though  but  a  fragment,  and,  unfortu- 
nately, long  since  departed  to  the  bosom  of  Cinderella,  en- 
titled "  How  to  raise  a  Ghost;  and  when  you've  got  him 
down,  how  to  keep  him  down."  To  which  work  he  as> 
sured  us  that  some  most  learned  and  enormous  man, 
whose  name  was  a  foot  and  a  half  long,  had  promised  him 
an  appendix,  which  appendix  treated  of  the  Red  Sea  and 
Solomon's  signet  ring,  with  forms  of  mittimus  for  ghosts 
that  might  be  refractory,  and  probably  a  riot  act,  for  any 
emeute  amongst  ghosts  inclined  to  raise  barricades ;  since 
he  often  thrilled  our  young  hearts  by  supposing  the  case, 
(not  at  all  unlikely,  he  affirmed,)  that  a  federation,  a  sol- 
emn league  and  conspirac)*,  might  take  place  amongst  the 
infinite  generations  of  ghosts  against  the  single  generation 
of  men  at  any  one  time  composing  the  garrison  of  earth 
The  Roman  phrase  for  expressing  that  a  man  had  died 
viz.,  "-4^1*7  ad  pliires,''''  ^tle  has  gone  over  to  the  major 
ity,)  my  brother  explained  to  us ;  and  we  easily  compre 
hended  that  any  one  generation  of  the  living  human  race 


INTRODJCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  67 

even  if  combinefl,  and  acting  in  concert,  must  be  in  a 
frightful  minority,  by  comparison  willi  all  the  incalculable 
generations  that  had  trod  this  earth  before  us.  The  Parlia- 
ment of  living  men,  Lords  and  Commons  united,  what  a 
miserable  array  against  the  Upper  and  Lower  House  com- 
posing the  Parliament  of  ghosts!  Perhaps  the  Pre-Adam- 
ites  would  constitute  one  wing  in  such  a  ghostly  army. 
My  brother,  dying  in  his  sixteenth  year,  was  far  enough 
from  seeing  or  foreseeing  Waterloo ;  else  he  might  have 
illustrated  this  dreadful  duel  of  the  living  human  race  with 
its  ghostly  predecessors,  by  the  awful  apparition  which  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  on  the  18lh  of  June,  1815, 
the  mighty  contest  at  Waterloo  must  have  assumed  to  eyes 
that  watched  over  the  trembling  interests  of  man.  The 
English  army,  about  that  time  in  the  great  agony  of  its 
strife,  was  thrown  into  squares  ;  and  under  that  arrange- 
ment, which  condensed  and  contracted  its  apparent  num- 
bers within  a  few  black  geometrical  diagrams,  how  fright- 
fully narrow,  how  spectral,  did  its  slender  quadrangles 
appear  at  a  distance,  to  any  philosophic  spectators  thai 
knew  the  amount  of  human  interests  confided  to  that  army, 
and  the  hopes  for  Christendom  that  even  then  were  trem- 
bling in  the  balance !  Such  a  disproportion,  it  seems, 
might  exist,  in  the  case  of  a  ghostly  war,  between  the  har- 
vest of  possible  results  and  the  slender  band  of  reapers  that 
were  to  gather  it.  And  there  was  even  a  worse  peril  than 
any  analogous  one  that  has  been  proved  to  exist  at  Water- 
loo. A  British  surgeon,  indeed,  in  a  work  of  two  octavo 
volumes,  has  endeavored  to  show  that  a  conspiracy  was 
traced  at  Waterloo,  between  two  or  three  foreign  regi- 
ments, for  kindling  a  panic  in  the  heat  of  the  battle,  by  flight, 
and  by  a  sustained  blowing  up  of  tumbrils,  under  the  mis- 
erable purpose  of  shaking  the  British  steadiness.  But  the 
evidences  are  not  clear;   whereas  my  brother  insisted  that 


68  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SWITCHES. 

the  presence  of  sham  men,  distributed  extensifely  amongst 
the  human  race,  and  meditating  treason  against  us  all,  had 
been  demonstrated  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  true  philoso- 
phers. Who  were  these  shams  and  make-believe  men  ? 
They  were,  in  fact,  people  that  had  been  dead  for  centu 
ries,  but  that,  for  reasons  best  known  to  themselves,  had 
returned  to  this  upper  earth,  walked  about  amongst  us,  and 
were  undistinguishable,  except  by  the  most  learned  of  nec- 
romancers, from  authentic  men  of  flesh  and  blood.  I  men- 
tion this  for  the  sake  of  illustrating  the  fact,  of  which  the 
reader  will  find  a  singular  instance  in  the  foot  note  at- 
tached, that  the  same  crazes  are  everlastinglv  revolvinjr 
upon  men.* 

This  hypothesis,  however,  like  a  thousand  others,  when 
it  happened  that  they  engaged  no  durable  sympathy  from 

*  Five  years  a<ro,  during  the  carnival  of  universal  anarchy  equally 
amongst  doers  and  thinkers,  a  closeh'-printed  pamphlet  was  pub- 
lished with  this  title,  "  A  New  Revelation,  or  the  Communion  of  the 
Incarnate  Dead  with  the  Unconscious  Living.  Important  Fact, 
without  trifling  Fiction,  by  Him.''  I  have  not  the  pleasure  of  know- 
ing Him  ;  but  certainly  I  must  concede  to  hiM,  that  he  writes  like  a 
man  of  extreme  sobriety  upon  his  extravagant  theme.  He  is  angry 
with  Swedenborg,  as  might  be  expected,  for  his  chimeras ;  some  of 
which,  however,  of  late  years  have  signally  altered  their  aspect;  but 
as  to  Him,  there  is  no  chance  that  he  should  be  occupied  with  chime- 
ras, because  (p.  6)  "  he  has  met  with  some  who  have  acknowledged 
the  fact  of  their  having  come  from  the  dead"  —  habcs  conjitfiitem 
renin.  Few,  however,  are  endowed  with  so  much  candor;  and  in 
particular,  for  the  honor  of  literature,  it  grieves  me  to  find,  by  p.  10, 
that  the  largest  number  of  these  shams,  and  perhaps  the  most  uncan- 
did,  are  to  be  looked  for  amongst  '■  publishers  and  printers,"  of  vbom, 
it  seems,  "the  great  majority"  are  mere  forgeries:  a  very  few  i^eak 
frankly  about  the  matter,  and  say  they  don't  care  who  kno.vs  it, 
which,  to  my  thinking,  is  impudence,  but  Iiy  far  the  larger  section 
doggedly  deny  it.  and  call  a  policeman,  if  you  persist  in  chariiing 
them  with  being  shams.  Some  dittcrcnccs  there  are  between  my 
brother  and  Him,  but  in  the  great  outline  of  their  views  they  comcida 


INTRODUCT  ON    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  69 

his  nursery  audience,  lie  did  not  pursue.  For  some  time 
he  turned  his  thoughts  to  philosophy,  and  read  lectures 
to  us  every  night  upon  some  branch  or  other  of  physics. 
This  undertaking  arose  upon  some  one  of  us  envying  or 
admiring  flies  for  their  power  of  vv^alking  upon  the  ceiling. 
"  Poh  ! "  he  said,  "  they  are  impostors  ;  they  pretend  to 
do  it,  but  they  can't  do  it  as  it  ought  to  be  done.  Ah-! 
you  should  see  7ne  standing  upright  on  the  ceiling,  with  my 
head  downwards,  for  half  an  hour  together,  and  meditating 
profoundly."  My  sister  Mary  remarked,  that  we  should  all 
be  very  glad  to  see  him  in  that  position.  "  If  that's  the 
case,"  he  replied,  "  it's  very  well  that  all  is  ready,  except 
as  to  a  strap  or  two."  Being  an  excellent  skater,  he  had 
first  imagined  that,  if  held  up  until  he  had  started,  he 
might  then,  by  taking  a  bold  sweep  ahead,  keep  himself 
in  position  through  the  continued  impetus  of  skating.  But 
this  he  found  not  to  answer ;  because,  as  he  observed, 
"  the  friction  was  too  retarding  from  the  plaster  of  Paris, 
but  the  case  would  be  very  different  if  the  ceiling  were 
coated  with  ice."  As  it  was  7iot,  he  changed  his  plan. 
The  true  secret,  he  now  discovered,  was  this:  he  would 
consider  himself  in  the  light  of  a  humming  top  ;  he  would 
make  an  apparatus  (and  he  made  it)  for  having  himself 
launched,  like  a  top,  upon  the  ceiling,  and  regularly  spun. 
Then  the  vertiginous  motion  of  the  human  top  would  over- 
power the  force  of  gravitation.  He  should,  of  course, 
spin  upon  his  own  axis,  and  sleep  upon  his  own  axis  — 
perhaps  he  might  even  dream  upon  it;  and  he  laughed  at 
"  those  scoundrels,  the  flies,"  that  never  improved  in  their 
pretended  art,  nor  made  any  thing  of  it.  The  principle 
was  now  discovered  ;  "and,  of  course,"  he  said,  if  a  man 
can  keep  it  up  for  five  minutes,  what's  to  hinder  him  from 
doing  so  t"or  five  months.?"  "Certainly,  nothing  that  1 
can  think  of,"  was  the  reply  of  my  sister,  whose  scepticism, 


'70  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

in  fact,  had  not  settled  upon  the  five  months,  but  altogether 
upon  the  five  minutes.  The  ajiparatus  for  spinning  him, 
however,  perhaps  from  its  com|)lexity,  would  not  work  —  a 
fact  evidently  owing  to  the  stupidity  of  the  gardener.  On 
reconsidering  the  subject,  he  announced,  to  the  disappoint- 
ment of  some  amongst  us,  that,  although  the  physical  dis- 
covery was  now  complete,  he  saw  a  moral  difficulty.  It 
was  not  a  hvmming  top  that  was  required,  but  a  peg  top. 
Now,  this,  in  order  to  keep  up  the  vertigo  at  full  stretch, 
Milhout  which,  to  a  certainty,  gravitation  would  prove  too 
much  for  him,  needed  to  be  whipped  incessantly.  But 
that  was  precisely  what  a  gentleman  ought  not  to  tole- 
rate :  to  be  scourged  unintermittingly  on  the  legs  by  any 
grub  of  a  gardener,  unless  it  were  father  Adam  himself, 
was  a  thing  that  he  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  face. 
Flowever,  as  some  compensation,  he  proposed  to  improve 
the  art  of  flying,  which  was,  as  every  body  must  acknowl- 
edge, in  a  condition  disgraceful  to  civilized  society.  As 
he  had  made  many  a  fire  balloon,  and  had  succeeded  in 
some  attempts  at  bringing  down  cats  by  parachutes,  it  was 
not  very  difficult  to  fly  downwards  from  moderate  eleva- 
tions. But,  as  he  was  reproached  by  my  sister  for  never 
flying  back  again,  —  which,  however,  was  a  far  diffi^rent 
tiling,  and  not  even  attempted  by  the  philosopher  in  "  Ras- 
sclas,"  —  (for 

"  Eevocare  gradum,  et  siipe>-as  cvadcre  ad  aurai?. 
Hie  labor,  hoc  opus  est,") 

he  refused,  under  such  poor  encouragement,  to  try  his 
winged  parachutes  any  more,  either  "  aloft  or  alow,"  till 
he  had  thoroughly  studied  Bishop  Wilkins  *  on  the  art  of 

*  "  Bishop  Wilkins." —  Dr.  W.,  Bishop  of  Chester,  in  the  reign  of 
Charles  II.,  notoriously  wrote  a  book  on  the  possibility  cf  a  voyage 


INTEODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  71 

translating  right  reverend  gentlemen  to  the  moon  ;  and,  in 
the  mean  time,  he  resumed  his  general  lectures  on  physics. 
From  these,  however,  he  was  speedily  driven,  or  one  might 
say  shelled  out,  by  a  concerted  assault  of  my  sister  Mary's. 
He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  lowering  the  pitch  of  his 
lectures  with  ostentatious  condescension  to  the  presumed 
level  of  our  poor  understandings.  This  superciliousness 
annoyed  my  sister;  and  accordingly,  with  the  help  of  two 
young  female  visitors,  and  my  next  younger  brother,  —  in 
subsequent  times  a  little  middy  on  board  many  a  ship  of  M. 
M.,  and  the  most  predestined  rebel  upon  earth  against  all 
assumptions,  small  or  great,  of  superiority,  —  she  arranged 
a  mutiny,  that  had  the  unexpected  effect  of  suddenly  extin- 
guishing the  lectures  forever.  He  had  happened  to  say, 
what  was  no  unusual  thing  with  him,  that  he  flattered  him- 
self he  had  made  the  point  under  discussion  tolerably  clear; 
"  clear,"  he  added,  bowing  round  the  half  circle  of  us,  the 
audience,  "  to  the  meanest  of  capacities  ;"  and  then  he  re- 
peated, sonorously,  "clear  to  the  most  excruciatingly  mean 
of  capacities."  Upon  which,  a  voice,  a  female  voice, — 
but  whose  voice,  in  the  tumult  that  followed,  I  did  not 
distinguish, — retorted,  "  No,  you  haven't;  it's  as  daik  as 
sin  ;"  and  then,  without  a  moment's  interval,  a  second  voice 
exclaimed, "  Dark  as  night ;"  then  came  my  young  brother's 

■0  the  moon,  which,  in  a  bishop,  would  be  calleel  a  transhition  to  the 
moon,  and  perhaps  it  was  his  name  in  combination  with  his  book  that 
suggested  the  "  Adventures  of  Peter  Wilkins."  It  is  unfair,  how- 
ever, to  mention  him  in  connection  with  that  single  one  of  his  works 
which  announces  an  extravagant  purpose.  He  was  really  a  scientific 
man,  and  already  in  the  time  of  Cromwell  (about  1656)  had  pro- 
jected that  Royal  Society  of  London  which  was  afterwards  realized 
and  presided  over  by  Isaac  Barrow  and  Isaac  Newton.  He  was  also 
a  learned  man,  but  still  with  a  veil  of  romance  about  him,  as  may  bo 
seen  in  his  most  elaborate  work  —  "  The  Essay  towards  a  Philosophic 
or  Universal  Language." 


72  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

insurrectionary  yell,  "  Dark  as  midnight ;  "  then  another  fe- 
male voice  chimed  in  melodiously,  "Dark  as  pitch;"  and 
so  the  peal  continued  to  come  round  like  a  catch,  the  whole 
being  so  well  concerted,  and  the  rolling  fire  so  well  sus- 
tained, that  it  was  impossible  to  make  head  against  it; 
whilst  the  abruptness  of  the  interruption  gave  to  it  the  pro- 
tecting character  of  an  oral  "  round  robin,"  it  being  impos- 
sible to  challenge  any  one  in  particular  as  the  ringleader. 
Burke's  phrase  of  "  the  swinish  multitude,"  applied  to 
mobs,  was  then  in  every  body's  mouth  ;  and,  accordingly, 
after  my  brother  had  recovered  from  his  first  astonishment 
at  tills  audacious  mutiny,  he  made  us  several  sweeping  bows 
that  looked  very  much  like  tentative  rehearsals  of  a  sweep- 
ing/)/5///a(Ze,  and  then  addressed  us  in  a  very  brief  speech, 
of  which  we  could  distinguish  the  words  pearls  and  swinish 
multitude,  but  uttered  in  a  very  low  key,  perhaps  out  of 
some  lurking  consideration  for  the  two  young  strangers. 
We  all  laughed  in  chorus  at  this  parting  salute  ;  my  brother 
himself  condescended  at  last  to  join  us;  but  there  ended 
the  course  of  lectures  on  natural  philosophy. 

As  it  was  impossible,  however,  that  he  should  remain 
quiet,  he  announced  to  us,  that  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he 
meant  to  dedicate  himself  to  the  intense  cultivation  of  the 
tragic  drama.  He  got  to  work  instantly  ;  and  very  soon 
he  had  composed  the  first  act  of  his  "  Sultan  Selim  ;"  but, 
in  defiance  of  th^  metre,  he  soon  changed  the  title  to 
"  Sultan  Amu  rath,"  considering  that  a  much  fiercer  name, 
more  bewhiskered  and  beturbaned.  It  was  no  part  of  his 
intention  that  we  should  sit  lolling  on  chairs  like  ladies 
and  gentleman  that  had  paid  opera  prices  for  private  boxes, 
lie  expected  every  one  of  us,  he  said,  to  pull  an  oar.  We 
were  to  act  the  tragedy.  But,  in  fact,  we  had  manv  oara 
to  |Hill.  There  were  so  many  characters,  that  each  of  us 
took  four  at  the  least,  and  the  future  middy  had  six.     He, 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WOKLD    OF    STRIFE.  73 

this  wicked  little  middy,*  caused  the  greatest  affliction  to 
Sultan  Amurath,  forcing  hiin  to  order  the  amputation  of 
his  head  six  several  ♦imcs  (that  is,  once  in  every  one  of  his 
six  parts)  during  the  first  act.  In  reality,  the  sultan,  though 
otherwise  a  decent  man,  was  too  bloody.  What  by  the 
bowstring,  and  wha.  by  the  cimeter,  he  had  so  thinned 
the  population  with  wbich  he  commenced  business,  that 
scarcely  any  of  the  characters  remained  alive  at  the  end 
of  act  the  first.  Sultan  Amurath  found  himself  in  an 
awkward  situation.  Large  arrears  of  work  remained,  and 
hardly  any  body  to  do  it  but  the  sultan  himself.  In  com- 
posing act  the  second,  the  author  had  to  proceed  like 
Deucalion  and  Pyrrha,  and  to  create  an  entirely  new- 
generation.  Apparently  this  young  generation,  that  ought 
to  have  been  so  good,  took  no  warning  by  what  had  hap- 
pened to  their  ancestors  in  act  the  first:  one  must  conclude 
that  they  were  quite  as  wicked,  since  the  poor  sultan  had 
found  himself  reduced  to  order  them  all  for  execution  in 
the  course  of  this  act  the  second.  To  the  brazen  age  had 
succeeded  an  iron  age  ;  and  the  prospects  were  becoming 
sadder  and  sadder  as  the  tragedy  advanced.  But  here  the 
author  began  to  hesitate.  He  felt  it  hard  to  resist  the  in 
stinct  of  carnage.  And  was  it  right  to  do  so  ?  Which  of 
the  felons  whom  he  had  cut  of  prevnaturely  could  pretend 
that  a  court  of  appeal  would  have  reversed  his  sentence  ? 
But  the  consequences  were  distressing.  A  new  set  of 
characters  in  every  act  brought  with  it  the  necessity  of  a 

*  "  J/(V/f///."  —  I  call  him  so  simply  to  avoid  confusion,  and  by  way 
of  anticipation  ;  else  he  was  too  young  at  this  time  to  serve  in  tlie 
navy.  Afterwards  he  did  so  for  many  years,  and  saw  every  variety 
of  service  in  every  class  of  ships  belonging  to  our  navy.  At  one 
time,  when  yet  a  boy,  he  was  captured  by  pirates,  and  compelled  to 
sail  with  them  and  the  end  of  his  adventurous  career  was,  that  for 
many  a  year  h";  has  been  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  Atlantic. 


74  AUTOBIOGRAi  tllC    SKETCHES. 

new  plot ;  for  people  could  not  succeed  to  the  arrears  of 
old  actions,  or  inherit  ancient  motives,  like  a  landed  estate. 
Five  crops,  in  fact,  must  be  taken  otF  the  ground  in  each 
separate  tragedy,  amounting,  in  short,  to  five  tragedies  in- 
volved in  one. 

Such,  according  to  the  rapid  sketch  which  at  this  mo- 
ment my  memory  furnishes,  was  the  brother  who  now  first 
laid  open  to  me  the  gates  of  war.  The  occasion  was  this. 
He  had  resented,  with  a  shower  of  stones,  an  affront  of- 
fered to  us  by  an  individual  boy,  belonging  to  a  cotton 
factory  :  for  more  than  two  years  afterwards  this  became 
the  teterrima  causa  of  a  skirmish  or  a  battle  as  often  as  we 
passed  the  factory ;  and,  unfortunately,  that  was  twice 
a  day  on  every  day  except  Sunday.  Our  situation  in 
respect  to  the  enemy  was  as  follows :  Greenhay,  a  coun- 
try house  newly  built  by  my  father,  at  that  time  was  a 
clear  mile  from  the  outskirts  of  Manchester ;  but  in  after 
years  Manchester,  throwing  out  the  tentacida  of  its  vast 
expansions,  absolutely  enveloped  Greenhay ;  and,  for  any 
thing  I  know,  the  grounds  and  gardens  which  then  insu- 
lated the  house  may  have  long  disappeared.  Being  a 
modest  mansion,  which  (including  hot  walls,  offices,  and 
gardener's  house)  had  cost  only  six  thousand  pounds,  I  do 
not  know  how  it  should  have  risen  to  the  distinction  of 
giving  name  to  a  region  of  that  great  town  ;  however,  it 
has  done  so ;  *  and  at  this  time,  therefore,  after  changes 
so  great,  it  will  be  difficult  for  the  habitue  of  that  region 
to  understand  how  my  brother  and  myself  could  have  a 
solitar}'  road  to  traverse  between  Greenhay  and  Princess 
Street,  then  the  termination,  on  that  side,  of  Manchester. 

*  "  Greenheys"  with  a  slight  variarion  in  the  spelling,  is  the  name 
given  to  that  district  of  which  Greenhay  formed  the  original  nucleus. 
Probably  it  was  the  solitary  situation  of  the  house  which  (failing 
any  other  grounds  of  denomination)  raised  it  to  this  privilege. 


INTROLJCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  75 

But  SO  it  was.  Oxford  Street,  like  its  namesake  in  Lon- 
don, was  then  called  the  Oxford  Road;  and  during  the 
currency  of  our  acquaintance  with  it,  arose  the  first  three 
houses  in  its  neighborhood  ;  of  which  the  third  was  built 
for  the  Rev.  S.  H.,  one  of  our  guardians,  for  whom  his 
friends  had  also  built  the  Church  of  St.  Peter's  —  not  a 
bowshot  from  the  house.  At  present,  however,  he  resided 
m  Salford,  nearly  two  miles  from  Greenhay  ;  and  to  him 
we  went  over  daily,  for  the  benefit  of  his  classical  instruc- 
tions. One  sole  cotton  factory  had  then  risen  along  the 
line  of  Oxford  Street  ;  and  this  was  close  to  a  bridge, 
which  also  was  a  new  creation  ;  for  previously  all  passen- 
gers to  Manchester  went  round  by  Garrat.  This  factory  be- 
came to  us  the  officina  gentium,  from  which  swarmed  forth 
those  Goths  and  Vandals  that  continually  threatened  our 
steps  ;  and  this  bridge  became  the  eternal  arena  of  combat, 
we  taking  good  care  to  be  on  the  right  side  of  the  bridge 
for  retreat,  i.  e.,  on  the  town  side,  or  the  country  side, 
accordingly  as  we  were  going  out  in  the  morning,  or  re- 
turning in  the  afternoon.  Stones  were  the  implements  of 
warfare  ;  and  by  continual  practice  both  parties  became 
expert  in  throwing  them. 

The  origin  of  the  feud  it  is  scarcely  requisite  to  re- 
hearse, since  the  particular  accident  which  began  it  was 
not  the  true  efficient  cause  of  our  long  warfare,  but  simply 
the  casual  occasion.  The  cause  lay  in  our  aristocratic 
dress.  As  children  of  an  opulent  family,  where  all  pro- 
visions were  liberal,  and  all  appointments  elegant,  we  were 
uniformly  well  dressed  ;  and,  in  particular,  we  wore  trous- 
sers,  (at  that  time  unheard  of,  except  among  sailors,)  and 
we  also  wore  Hessian  boots  —  a  crime  that  could  not  be 
forgiven  in  the  Lancashire  of  that  day,  because  it  expressed 
the  double  offence  of  being  aristocratic  and  being  outland- 
ish.    We   were   aristocrats,  and  it  was  vain  to  deny  it ; 


7G  AUTOBIOGRArHIC    SKETCHES. 

could  we  deny  our  boots  ?  whilst  our  antagonists,  if  not 
absolutely  sans  culottes^  were  slovenly  and  forlorn  in  their 
dress,  often  unwashed,  with  hair  totally  neglected,  and 
always  covered  with  flakes  of  cotton.  Jacobins  they  were 
not,  as  regarded  any  sympathy  wtth  the  Jacobinism  that 
then  desolated  France  ;  for,  on  the  contrary,  they  detested 
every  t^ing  French,  and  answered  with  brotherly  signals  to 
the  cr}-  of  "  Church  and  king,"  or  "  King  and  constitu- 
tion." But,  for  all  that,  as  they  were  perfectly  independent, 
getting  very  high  wages,  and  these  wages  in  a  mode  of 
industry  that  was  then  taking  vast  strides  ahead,  they  con- 
trived to  reconcile  this  patriotic  anti-Jacobinism  with  a 
personal  Jacobinism  of  that  sort  which  is  native  to  the  heart 
of  man,  who  is  by  natural  impulse  (and  not  without  a  root 
of  nobility,  though  also  of  base  envy)  impatient  of  ine- 
quality, and  submits  to  it  only  through  a  sense  of  its  neces- 
sity, or  under  a  long  experience  of  its  benefits. 

It  was  on  an  early  day  of  our  new  /?/?'om/?Mm,  or  perhaps 
on  the  very  first,  that,  as  we  passed  the  bridge,  a  boy  hap- 
pening to  issue  from  the  factory  *  sang  out  to  us  derisively, 
"  Hollo,  bucks  !  "  In  this  the  reader  may  fail  to  perceive 
any  atrocious  insult  commensurate  to  the  long  war  which 
followed.  But  the  reader  is  wrong.  The  word  "  rfandics,"  f 
which  was  what  the  villain  meant,  had  not  then  been  born, 
so  that  he  could  not  have  called  us  by  that  name,  unless 
through  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  Buck  was  the  nearest  word 
at  hand  in  his  Manchester  vocabulary  :  he  gave  all  he 
could,  and  let  us  dream  the  rest.  But  in  the  next  moment 
he  discovered  our  boots,  and  he  consummated  his  crime  by 

*  " Factory"  —  Such  was  the  designation  technically  at  that  time. 
At  present,  I  believe  that  a  building  of  that  class  would  be  called  a 
"  mill." 

t  This  word,  however,  exists  in  Jack-a  dandy  —  a  very  old  English 
word.    But  what  does  i/iMi  mean? 


INTKOmrCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  77 

saluting  us  as  "  Boots  !  boots  !  "  My  brother  made  a  dead 
stop,  surveyed  him  with  intense  disdain,  and  bade  him  draw 
near,  tliat  he  might  "  give  his  flesh  to  the  fowls  of  the  air." 
The  boy  declined  to  accept  this  liberal  invitation,  and  con- 
veyed his  answer  by  a  most  contemptuous  and  plebeian 
gesture,*  upon  which  my  brother  drove  him  in  with  a 
shower  of  stones. 

During  this  inaugural  flourish  of  hostilities,  I,  for  my 
part,  remained  inactive,  and  therefore  apparently  neutral. 
Rut  this  was  the  last  time  that  I  did  so :  for  the  moment, 
indeed,  I  was  taken  by  surprise.  To  be  called  a  huck  by 
one  that  had  it  in  his  choice  to  have  called  me  a  coward, 
a  thief,  or  a  murderer,  struck  me  as  a  most  pardonable 
offence  ;  and  as  to  hoots,  that  rested  upon  a  flagrant  fact 
that  could  not  be  denied  ;  so  that  at  first  I  was  green  enough 
to  regard  the  boy  as  very  considerate  and  indulgent.  But 
my  brother  soon  rectified  my  views  ;  or,  if  any  doubts 
remained,  he  impressed  me,  at  least,  with  a  sense  of  my 
paramount  duty  to  himself,  which  was  threefold.  First, 
it  seems  that  I  owed  military  allegiance  to  him,  as  my  com- 
mander-in-chief, whenever  we  "  took  the  field  ;"  secondly, 
by  the  law  of  nations,  I,  being  a  cadet  of  my  house,  owed 
suit  and  service  to  him  who  was  its  head  ;  and  he  assured 
me,  that  twice  in  a  year,  on  my  birthday  and  on  his,  he  had 
a  right,  strictly  speaking,  to  make  me  lie  down,  and  to  set 
his  foot  upon  my  neck  ;  lastly,  by  a  law  not  so  rigorous, 
but  valid  amongst  gentlemen,  —  viz.,  "  by  the  co??u7?/  of 
nations,"  —  it  seems  I  owed  eternal  deference  to  one  so 
much  older  than   myself,  so  much  wiser,  stronger,  braver, 

*  Precisely,  however,  the  same  gesture,  plebeian  as  it  was,  by  which 
the  English  commandant  at  Heligoland  replied  to  the  Danes  when 
civilly  inviting  him  to  surrender.  Southey  it  was,  on  the  authority  of 
Lieutenant  Southey,  his  brother,  who  communicated  to  me  this  aa- 
ecdote. 


78  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

more  beautiful,  and  more  swift  of  foot.  Something  like 
all  this  in  tendency  I  had  already  believed,  though  I  had 
not  so  minutely  investigated  the  modes  and  grounds  of  my 
duty.  By  temperament,  and  through  natural  dedication  to 
despondency,  I  felt  resting  upon  me  always  too  deep  arjd 
gloomy  a  sense  of  obscure  duties  attached  to  life,  that  I 
never  should  be  able  to  fulfil  ;  a  burden  which  I  could  not 
carry,  and  which  yet  I  did  not  know  how  to  throw  off. 
Glad,  therefore,  I  was  to  find  the  whole  tremendous  weight 
of  obligations — the  law  and  the  prophets  —  all  crowded 
into  this  one  pocket  command,  "  Thou  shalt  obey  thy 
brother  as  God's  vicar  upon  earth."  For  now,  if,  by  any 
future  stone  levelled  at  him  who  had  called  me  a  "  buck," 
I  should  chance  to  draw  blood,  perhaps  I  might  not  have 
committed  so  serious  a  trespass  on  any  rights  which  he 
could  plead  ;  but  if  I  had^  (for  on  this  subject  my  convictions 
were  still  cloudy,)  at  any  rate,  the  duty  I  might  have  vio- 
lated in  regard  to  this  general  brother,  in  right  of  Adam, 
was  cancelled  when  it  came  into  collision  with  my  para- 
mount duty  to  this  liege  brother  of  my  own  individual 
house. 

From  this  day,  therefore,  I  obeyed  all  my  brother's  mil- 
itary commands  with  the  utmost  docility ;  and  happy  it 
made  me  that  every  sort  of  doubt,  or  question,  or  opening 
for  demur  was  swallowed  up  in  the  unity  of  this  one  papal 
principle,  discovered  by  my  brother,  viz.,  that  all  rights  and 
duties  of  casuistry  were  transferred  from  me  to  himself. 
His  was  the  judgment  —  his  was  the  responsibility  ;  and  to 
me  belonged  only  the  sublime  obligation  of  unconditional 
faith  in  him.  That  faith  I  realized.  It  is  true  tliat  he 
taxed  me  at  times,  in  his  reports  of  particular  fights,  with 
"  horrible  cowardice,"  and  even  with  "  a  cowardice  that 
seemed  inexplicable,  except  on  the  supposition  of  treach- 
ery."    But  this  was  only  afapori  de  purler  with  him:  the 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  79 

idea  of  secret  perfidy,  that  was  constantly  moving  under 
ground,  gave  an  interest  to  the  progress  of  the  war,  which 
else  tended  to  the  monotonous.  It  was  a  dramatic  artifice 
for  sustaining  the  interest,  where  the  incidents  might  hap- 
pen to  be  too  slightly  diversified.  But  that  he  did  not 
believe  his  own  charges  was  clear,  because  he  never  repeat- 
ed them  in  his  "  General  History  of  the  Campaigns," 
which  was  a  resume^  or  recapituliting  digest,  of  his  daily 
reports. 

We  fought  every  day,  and,  generally  speaking,  twice 
every  day  ;  and  the  result  was  pretty  uniform,  viz.,  that 
my  brother  and  I  terminated  the  battle  by  insisting  upon 
our  undoubted  right  to  run  away.  Magna  Charta^  I  should 
fancy,  secures  that  great  right  to  every  man ;  else,  surely, 
it  is  sadly  defective.  But  out  of  this  catastrophe  to  most 
of  our  skirmishes,  and  to  all  our  pitched  battles  except  one, 
grew  a  standing  schism  between  my  brother  and  myself. 
My  unlimited  obedience  had  respect  to  action,  but  not  to 
opinion.  Loyalty  to  my  brother  did  not  rest  upon  hy- 
pocrisy :  because  I  was  faithful,  it  did  not  follow  that  I 
must  be  false  in  relation  to  his  capricious  opinions.  And 
these  opinions  sometimes  took  the  shape  of  acts.  Twice, 
at  the  least,  in  every  week,  but  sometimes  every  night,  my 
brother  insisted  on  singing  "  Te  Deum  "  for  supposed  vic- 
tories which  he  had  won  ;  and  he  insisted  also  on  my 
bearing  a  part  in  these  "  Te  Deums."  Now,  as  I  knew  of 
no  such  victories,  but  resolutely  asserted  the  truth,  —  viz., 
that  we  ran  away,  —  a  slight  jar  was  thus  given  to  the  else 
triumphal  effect  of  these  musical  ovations.  Once  having 
uttered  my  protest,  however,  willingly  I  gave  my  aid  to  the 
chanting  ;  for  I  loved  unspeakably  the  grand  and  varied 
system  of  chanting  in  the  Romish  and  English  churches. 
And,  looking  back  at  this  day  to  the  ineffable  benefits 
which  I  derived  from  the  church  of  my  childhood,  I  account 


80  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

among  the  very  greatest  those  which  reached  me  llirough 
the  various  chants  connected  with  the  "  O,  Jubilate,"  the 
"Magnificat,"  the  "  Te  Deusn,"  the  "  Benedicite,"  &c. 
Through  these  chants  it  was  that  the  sorrow  wliich  laid 
waste  my  infancy,  and  the  devotion  which  nature  had 
made  a  necessity  of  my  being,  were  profoundly  interfused  : 
the  sorrow  gave  reality  and  depth  to  the  devotion  ;  the  de- 
votion gave  grandeur  and  idealization  to  the  sorrow.  Nei- 
ther was  my  love  for  chanting  altogether  w'ithout  knowl- 
edge. A  son  of  my  reverend  guardian,  much  older  than 
myself,  who  possessed  a  singular  faculty  of  producing  a 
sort  of  organ  accompaniment  with  one  half  of  his  mouth, 
whilst  he  sang  with  the  other  half,  had  given  me  some  in- 
structions in  the  art  of  chanting  ;  and,  as  to  mv  brother, 
he,  the  hundred-handed  Briareus,  could  do  all  things  ;  of 
course,  therefore,  he  could  chant. 

Once  having  begun,  it  followed  naturally  that  the  war 
should  deepen  in  bitterness.  Wounds  that  wrote  memo- 
rials in  the  flesh,  insults  that  rankled  in  the  heart,  —  these 
were  not  features  of  the  case  likely  to  be  forgotten  by  our 
enemies,  and  far  less  by  my  fiery  brother,  I,  for  my  part, 
entered  not  into  any  of  the  passions  that  war  may  be  sup- 
posed to  kindle,  except  only  the  chronic  passion  of  anxiety. 
Fear  it  was  not;  for  experience  had  taught  me  that,  under 
the  random  firing  of  our  undisciplined  enemies,  the  chances 
were  not  many  of  being  w-ounded.  But  the  uncertainties 
of  the  war ;  the  doubts  in  every  separate  action  whether  I 
could  keep  up  the  requisite  connection  with  my  brother, 
and,  in  case  I  could  not,  the  utter  darkness  that  surrounded 
my  fate  ;  whether,  as  a  trophy  won  from  Israel,  I  should 
be  dedicated  to  the  service  of  some  Manchester  Dagon,  or 
pass  through  fire  to  Moloch,  —  all  these  contingencies,  for 
me  that  had  no  friend  to  consult,  ran  too  violently  into  the 
master  current  of  my  constitutional  despondency  ever  to 


IlSrRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  81 

give  way  under  any  casual  elation  of  success.  Success, 
however,  we  really  had  at  times;  in  slight  skirn)ishes  pret- 
ty often;  and  once,  at  least,  as  the  reader  will  find  to  his 
mortification,  if  he  is  wicked  enough  to  take  the  side  of  the 
Philistines,  a  most  smashing  victory  in  a  pitched  battle. 
But  even  then,  and  whilst  the  hurrahs  were  yet  ascending 
from  our  jubilating  lips,  the  freezing  remembrance  came 
back  to  my  heart  of  that  deadly  depression  which,  duly  at 
the  coming  round  of  the  morning  and  evening  watches, 
travelled  with  me  like  my  shadow  on  our  approach  to  the 
memorable  bridge.     A  bridge  of  sighs  *  too  surely  it  was 

*  ^'■Bridge  of  siylisP  —  Two  men  of  mcmoraldc  genius,  Hood  last, 
and  Lord  Byron  by  many  years  previously,  have  so  appropriated  this 
phrase,  and  reissued  it  as  English  currency,  that  many  readers  sup- 
pose it  to  be  theirs.  But  the  genealogies  of  fine  expressions  should 
be  more  carefully  presci-ved.  The  expression  belongs  originally  to 
Venice.  This  jus  postUininii  becomes  of  real  importance  in  many 
cases,  but  especiiilly  in  the  case  of  Shakspeare.  Could  one  have  be- 
lieved it  possible  beforehand  ?  And  yet  it  is  a  fact  that  he  is  made  to 
seem  a  robber  of  the  lowest  order,  by  mere  dint  of  suffering  robbery. 
Purely  through  their  own  jewelly  splendor  have  many  hundreds  of 
his  phrases  forced  themselves  into  usage  so  general,  under  the  vulgar 
infirmity  of  seeking  to  strengthen  weak  prose  by  shreds  of  poetic  quo- 
tation, that  at  length  the  majority  of  careless  readers  come  to  look 
upon  these  phrases  as  belonging  to  the  language,  and  traceable  to  no 
distinct  proprietor  any  more  than  proverbs :  and  thus,  on  afterwards 
observing  them  in  Shakspeare,  they  regard  him  in  the  light  of  one 
accepting  alms  (like  so  many  meaner  persons)  from  the  common  treas- 
ury of  the  universal  mind,  on  which  treasury,  meantime,  he  had  him- 
self conferred  these  phrases  as  original  donations  of  his  own.  Many 
expressions  in  the  "  Paradise  Lost."  in  "  II  Penscroso,"  and  in  "  L' Al- 
legro," are  in  the  same  predicament.  And  thus  the  almost  incredible 
case  is  realized  which  I  have  described,  viz.,  that  simply  by  having 
suffered  a  roblicry  through  two  centuries,  (for  the  first  attempt  at 
plundering  Milton  was  made  upon  his  juvenile  poems,)  have  Shaks- 
peare and  Milton  come  to  bo  taxed  as  robbers.  N.  B.  —  In  speaking 
of  Hood  as  having  appropriated  the  phrase  Bridge  of  Sighs,  1  would 
not  be  understood  to  represent  him  as  by  possibility  aiming  at  any 

6 


82  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

for  me;  and  even  for  my  brother  it  formed  an  object  of 
fierce  yet  anxious  jealousy,  that  he  could  not  always  dis- 
guise, as  we  first  came  in  sight  of  it ;  for,  if  it  happened  to 
be  occupied  in  strength,  there  was  an  end  of  all  hope  that 
we  could  attempt  the  passage  ;  and  that  was  a  fortunate 
solution  of  the  difficulty,  as  it  imposed  no  evil  beyond  a 
circuit ;  which,  at  least,  was  safe,  if  the  world  should 
choose  to  call  it  inglorious.  Even  this  shade  of  ignominy, 
however,  my  brother  contrived  to  color  favorably,  by  call- 
ing us  —  that  is,  me  and  himself — "a  corps  of  observa- 
tion ; "  and  he  condescendingly  explained  to  me,  that,  al- 
though making  "  a  lateral  movement,"  he  had  his  eye 
upon  the  enemy,  and  "  might  yet  come  round  upon  his  left 
flank  in  a  way  that  wouldn't,  perhaps,  prove  very  agree- 
able." This,  from  the  nature  of  the  ground,  never  hap- 
pened. We  crossed  the  river  at  Garrat,  out  of  sight  from 
the  enemy's  position  ;  and,  on  our  return  in  the  evening, 
when  we  reached  that  point  of  our  route  from  which  the 
retreat  was  secure  to  Greenhay,  we  took  such  revenge  for 
the  morning  insult  as  might  belong  to  extra  liberality  in 
our  stone  donations.  On  this  line  of  policy  there  was, 
therefore,  no  cause  for  anxiety ;  but  the  common  case  was, 
that  the  numbers  might  not  be  such  as  to  justify  this  cau- 
tion, and  yet  quite  enough  for  mischief.  To  my  brother, 
however,  stung  and  carried  headlong  into  hostility  by  the 
martial  instincts  of  his  nature,  .the  uneasiness  of  doubt  or 
insecurity  was  swallowed  up  by  his  joy  in  the  anticipation 
of  victory,  or  even  of  contest ;  whilst  to  myself,  whose  ex- 
ultation was  purely  official  and  ceremonial,  as  due  by  loy- 
alty from  a  cadet  to  the  head  of  his  house,  no  such  com- 
pensation existed.     The  enemy  was  no  enemy  in  my  eyes ; 

conceahnent.  He  was  as  far  above  such  a  meanness  by  his  noliility 
of  heart,  as  he  was  raised  above  all  need  for  it  by  the  overflowing 
opulence  of  his  genius. 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OJ    STRIFE.  83 

his  affronts  were  but  retaliations  ;  and  liis  insults  were  so 
inapplicable  to  my  unworthy  self,  being  of  a  calibre  exclu- 
sively meant  for  the  use  of  my  brother,  that  from  me  they 
recoiled,  one  and  all,  as  cannon  shot  from  cotton  bags. 

The  ordinary  course  of  our  day's  warfare  was  this  :  be- 
tween nine  and  ten  in  the  morning  occurred  our  first  tran- 
sit, and,  consequently,  our  earliest  opportunity  for  doing 
business.  But  at  this  time  the  great  sublunary  interest  of 
breakfast,  which  swallowed  up  all  nobler  considerations  of 
glory  and  ambition,  occupied  the  work  people  of  the  facto- 
ry, (or  what  in  the  pedantic  diction  of  this  day  are  termed 
the  "  operatives,")  so  that  very  seldom  any  serious  busi- 
ness was  transacted.  Without  any  formal  armistice,  the 
paramount  convenience  of  such  an  arrangement  silently 
secured  its  own  recognition.  Notice  there  needed  none  of 
truce,  when  the  one  side  yearned  for  breakfast,  and  the 
other  for  a  respite  :  the  groups,  therefore,  on  or  about  the 
bridge,  if  any  at  all,  were  loose  in  their  array,  and  careless. 
AVe  passed  through  them  rapidly,  and,  on  my  part,  unea- 
sily ;  exchanging  a  few  snarls,  perhaps,  but  seldom  or  ever 
snapping  at  each  other.  The  tameness  was  almost  shock- 
ing of  those  who,  in  the  afternoon,  would  inevitably  resume 
their  natural  characters  of  tiger  cats  and  wolves.  Some- 
times, however,  my  brother  felt  it  to  be  a  duty  that  we 
should  fight  in  the  morning ;  particularly  when  any  expres- 
sion of  public  joy  for  a  victory,  —  bdis  ringing  in  the  dis- 
tance,—  or  when  a  royal  birthday,  or  some  traditional  com- 
memoration of  ancient  feuds,  (such  as  the  5th  of  Novem- 
ber,) irritated  his  martial  propensities.  Some  of  these 
being  religious  festivals,  seemed  to  require  of  us  an  extra 
homage,  for  which  we  knew  not  how  to  find  any  natural 
or  significant  expression,  except  through  sharp  discharges 
of  stones,  that  being  a  language  older  than  Hebrew  or  San- 
scrit, and   universally  intelligible.      But,  excepting  these 


84  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

high  days  of  religious  solemnity,  when  a  man  is  called 
Ujion  to  show  that  he  is  not  a  pagan  or  a  miscreant  in  the 
eldest  of  senses,  by  thumping,  or  trying  to  thump,  some- 
body who  is  accused  or  accusable  of  being  heterodox,  the 
great  ceremony  of  breakfast  was  allowed  to  sanctify  the 
hour.  Some  natural  growls  we  uttered,  but  hushed  them 
soon,  regardless 

"  Of  the  sweeping  wliii-lpool's  sway, 
That,  hushed  in  grim  repose,  looked  for  his  evening  prey." 

That  came  but  too  surely.  Yes,  evening  never  forgot  to 
come  ;  this  odious  necessity  of  fighting  never  missed  its 
road  back,  or  fell  asleep,  or  loitered  by  the  way,  more  than 
a  bill  of  exchange  or  a  tertian  fever.  Five  times  a  week 
(Saturday  sometimes,  and  Sunday  always,  were  days  of 
rest)  the  same  scene  rehearsed  itself  in  pretty  nearly  the 
same  succession  of  circumstances.  Between  four  and  five 
o'clock  we  had  crossed  the  bridge  to  the  safe,  or  Green- 
hay  side ;  then  we  paused,  and  waited  for  the  enemy. 
Sooner  or  later  a  bell  rang,  and  from  the  smoky  hive  is- 
sued the  hornets  that  night  and  day  stung  incurably  my 
peace  of  mind.  The  order  and  procession  of  the  incidents 
after  this  were  odiously  monotonous.  My  brother  occu- 
pied the  main  high  road,  precisely  at  the  point  where  a 
very  gentle  rise  of  the  ground  attained  its  smnmit;  for  the 
bridge  lay  in  a  slight  valley,  and  the  main  military  posi- 
tion was  fifty  or  eighty  yards  above  the  bridge  :  then  —  but 
havmg  first  examined  my  pockets,  in  order  to  be  sure  that 
my  stock  of  ammunhion,  stones,  fragments  of  slate,  with 
a  reasonable  proportion  of  brickbats,  was  all  correct  and 
ready  for  action  —  he  detached  me  about  forty  yards  to  the 
riMit,  mj'  orders  being  invariable,  and  liable  to  no  doubts 
or  "  quibbling."  Detestable  in  my  ears  was  that  word 
"  quilbling,''''  by  which,  for  a  thousand  years,  if  the  war 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  85 

had  hnppencd  to  last  so  long,  lie  would  have  fastened  upon 
me  the  imputation  of  meaning,  or  wishing,  at  least,  to  do 
what  he  called  "  pcttifogulizing  " — that  is,  to  plead  some 
distinction,  or  verbal  demur,  in  bar  of  my  orders,  under 
some  colorable  pretence  that,  according  to  their  literal  con- 
struction, they  really  did  not  admit  of  being  fulfilled,  or 
jjcrhaps  that  they  admitted  it  too  much  as  being  capable  of 
fulfilment  in  two  senses,  either  of  them  a  practicable  sense. 
True  it  was  that  my  eye  was  preternaturally  keen  for  flaws 
of  language,  not  from  pedantic  exaction  of  superfluous  ac- 
curacy, but,  on  the  contrary,  from  too  conscientious  a  wish 
to  escape  the  mistakes  which  language  not  rigorous  is  apt 
to  occasion.  So  far  from  seeking  to  "  pettifogulize  "  —  i.  e., 
to  find  evasions  for  any  purpose  in  a  trickster's  minute  tor- 
tuosities of  construction  — exactly  in  the  opposite  direction, 
from  mere  excess  of  sincerity,  most  unwillingly  I  found,  in 
almost  every  body's  words,  an  unintentional  opening  left 
for  double  interpretations.  Undesigned  equivocation  pre- 
vails every  where  ;  *  and  it  is  not  the  cavilling  hair  splitter, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  the  single-eyed  servant  of  truth,  that 
is  most  likely  to  insist  upon  the  limitation  of  expressions 
too  wide  or  too  vague,  and  upon  the  decisive  election  be- 
tween meanings  potentially  double.  Not  in  order  to  resist 
or  evade  my  brother's   directions,  but  for  the  very  opposite 

*  Geometry  (it  has  been  said)  would  not  evade  disputation,  if  a 
man  could  find  his  interest  in  disputing  it :  such  is  the  spirit  of  cavil. 
But  I,  upon  a  very  opposite  ground,  assert  that  there  is  not  one  page 
of  prose  that  could  be  selected  from  the  best  wi'iter  in  the  English 
hinguage  (far  less  in  the  Gei-man)  which,  upon  a  sufficient  interest 
arising,  would  not  furnish  matter,  simply  through  its  defects  in  pre- 
cision, for  a  suit  in  Chancery.  Chanceiy  suits  do  not  arise,  it  is  true, 
because  the  doubtful  expressions  do  not  touch  any  interest  of  prop- 
erty ;  but  what  does  arise  is  this  —  that  something  more  valuable 
than  a  pecuniary  interest  is  continually  suftbring,  viz.,  the  interests 
of  truth. 


86  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES, 

purpose  —  viz.,  that  I  might  fulfil  them  to  the  letter;  thus 
and  no  otherwise  it  happened  that  I  showed  so  much 
scrupulosity  about  the  exact  value  and  position  of  his  words, 
as  finally  to  draw  upon  myself  the  vexatious  reproach  of 
being  habitually  a  "  pettifogulizer." 

Meantime,  our  campaigning  continued  to  rage.  Over- 
tures of  pacification  were  never  mentioned  on  either  side. 
And  I,  for  my  part,  with  the  passions  only  of  peace  at  my 
heart,  did  the  works  of  war  faithfully  and  with  distinction. 
I  presume  so,  at  least,  from  the  results.  It  is  true,  I  was 
continually  falling  into  treason,  without  exactly  knowing 
how  I  got  into  it,  or  how  I  got  out  of  it.  My  brother  also, 
it  is  true,  sometimes  assured  me  that  he  could,  according  to 
the  rigor  of  martial  justice,  have  me  hanged  on  the  first 
tree  we  passed  ;  to  which  my  prosaic  answer  had  been, 
that  of  trees  there  were  none  in  Oxford  Street —  [which,  in 
imitation  of  Von  Troil's  famous  chapter  on  the  snakes  of 
Lapland,  the  reader  may  accept,  if  he  pleases,  as  a  com- 
plete course  of  lectures  on  the  "  dendrology  "  of  Oxford 
Street.]  But,  notwithstanding  such  little  stumblings  in  my 
career,  I  continued  to  ascend  in  the  service ;  and,  I  am 
sure,  it  will  gratify  my  friendly  readers  to  hear,  that,  before 
my  eighth  birthday,  I  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of  major 
general.  Over  this  sunshine,  however,  soon  swept  a  train 
of  clouds.  Three  times  I  was  taken  prisoner,  and  with 
different  results.  The  first  time  I  was  carried  to  the  rear, 
and  not  molested  in  any  way.  Finding  myself  thus  igno- 
miniously  neglected,  I  watched  my  opportunity  ;  and,  by 
making  a  wide  circuit,  easily  effected  my  escape.  In  the 
next  case,  a  brief  council  was  held  over  me ;  but  I  was  not 
allowed  to  hear  the  deliberations ;  the  result  only  being 
communicated  to  me  —  which  result  consisted  in  a  message 
not  very  complimentary  to  my  brother,  and  a  small  present 
of   kicks  to  myself.     This  present  was  paid  down  without 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    AVORLD    OF    STRIFE.  87 

any  disoount,  by  means  of  a  general  subscription  annongst 
the  party  surrounding  ine  —  that  party,  luckily,  not  being 
very  numerous ;  besides  which,  I  must,  in  honesty,  ac- 
knowledge myself,  generally  speaking,  indebted  to  their 
forbearance.  They  were  not  disposed  to  be  too  hard  upon 
me.  But,  at  the  same  time,  they  clearly  did  not  think  it 
right  that  I  should  escape  altogether  from  tasting  the  calam- 
ities of  war.  And  this  translated  the  estimate  of  my  guilt 
from  the  public  jurisdiction  to  that  of  the  individual,  some- 
times capricious  and  harsh,  and  carrying  out  the  public 
award  by  means  of  legs  that  ranged  through  all  gradations 
of  weight  and  agility.  One  kick  differed  exceedingly  from 
another  kick  in  dynamic  value ;  and,  in  some  cases,  this 
difference  was  so  distressingly  conspicuous  as  to  imply 
special  malice,  unworthy,  I  conceive,  of  all  generous 
soldiership. 

On  returning  to  our  own  frontiers,  I  had  an  opportunity 
of  displaying  my  exemplary  greenness.  That  message  to 
my  brother,  with  all  its  virus  of  insolence,  I  repeated  as 
faithfully  for  the  spirit,  and  as  literally  for  the  expressions, 
as  my  memory  allowed  me  to  do  ;  and  in  that  troublesome 
effort,  simpleton  that  I  was,  fancied  myself  exhibiting  a 
soldier's  loyalty  to  his  commanding  officer.  My  brother 
thought  otherwise  :  he  was  more  angry  with  me  than  with 
the  enemy.  I  ought,  he  said,  to  have  refused  all  participa- 
tion in  such  sans  cuUotes  insolence ;  to  carry  it  was  to  ac- 
knowledge it  as  fit  to  be  carried.  One  grows  wiser  every 
day  ;  and  on  this  particular  day  I  made  a  resolution  that,  if 
again  made  prisoner,  I  would  bring  no  more  "jaw"  (so  ray 
brother  called  it)  from  the  Philistines.  If  these  people  would 
send  "  jaw,"  I  settled  that,  henceforwards,  it  must  go  through 
the  post  office. 

In  my  former  captures,  there  had  been  nothing  special 
or     worthy    of    commemoration     in     the     circumstances. 


88  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Neither  was  tlicre  in  the  third,  excepting  that,  by  accident, 
in  the  second  stage  of  the  case,  I  was  delivered  over  to  the 
custody  of  young  women  and  girls  ;  whereas  the  ordinary 
course  would  have  thrown  me  upon  the  vigilant  attentions 
(relieved  from  monotony  by  the  experimental  kicks)  of 
boys.  So  far,  the  change  was  very  much  for  the  better.  I 
had  a  feeling  myself,  on  first  being  presented  to  my  new 
young  mistresses,  of  a  distressing  sort.  Having  always,  up 
to  the  coinpletion  of  my  sixth  year,  been  a  privileged  pet, 
and  almost,  I  might  say,  ranking  amongst  the  sanctities  of 
the  household,  with  all  its  female  sections,  whether  young 
or  old,  (an  advantage  which  I  owed  originally  to  a  long  ill- 
ness, an  ague,  stretcliing  over  two  entire  years  of  my  in- 
fancy,) naturally  I  had  learned  to  appreciate  the  indulgent 
tenderness  of  women  ;  and  my  heart  thrilled  with  love  and 
gratitude,  as  often  as  they  took  me  up  into  their  arms  and 
kissed  me.  Here  it  w'ould  have  been  as  every  where  else  ; 
but,  unfortunately,  my  introduction  to  these  young  women 
was  in  the  very  worst  of  characters,  I  had  been  taken  in 
arms  —  in  arms  against  their  own  brothers,  cousins,  sweet- 
hearts, and  on  pretexts  too  frivolous  to  mention.  If  asked 
the  question,  it  would  be  found  that  I  should  not  myself 
deny  the  fact  of  being  at  war  with  their  whole  order. 
What  was  the  meaning  of  tliati  What  was  it  to  which  war 
pledged  a  man?  It  pledged  him,  in  case  of  opportunitj'-, 
(0  burn,  ravage,  and  depopulate  the  houses  and  lands  of  the 
enemy ;  which  enemy  was  these  fair  girls.  The  warrior 
stood  committed  to  universal  destruction.  Neither  sex  nor 
age,  neither  the  smiles  of  unoffending  infancy  nor  the  gray 
hairs  of  the  venerable  pati'iarch,  neither  the  sanctity  of 
the  matron  nor  the  loveliness  of  the  youthful  bride,  would 
confer  any  privilege  with  the  warrior,  consequently  not 
with   me. 

Many  other  hideous    features  in  the    military  character 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  89 

will  be  found  in  books  innumerable  —  levelled  at  those  who 
make  war,  and  therefore  at  myself.  And  it  appears  finally 
by  these  books,  that,  as  one  of  my  ordinary  practices,  I 
make  a  wilderness,  and  call  it  a  pacification ;  that  I  hold  it 
a  duty  to  put  people  to  the  sword  ;  which  done,  to  plough 
up  the  foundations  of  their  hearths  and  altars,  and  then  to 
sow  the  ground  with  salt. 

All  this  was  passing  through  my  brain,  when  suddenly 
one  young  woman  snatched  me  up  in  her  arms,  and  kissed 
me :  from  Aer,  I  was  passed  round  to  others  of  the.  party, 
who  all  in  turn  caressed  me,  with  no  allusion  to  that  war- 
like mission  against  them  and  theirs,  which  only  had  pro- 
cured me  the  honor  of  an  introduction  to  themselves  in  the 
character  of  captive.  The  too  palpable  fact  that  I  was  not 
the  person  meant  by  nature  to  exterminate  their  families, 
or  to  make  wildernesses,  and  call  them  pacifications,  had 
withdrawn  from  their  minds  the  counterfact  —  that  what- 
ever had  been  my  performances,  my  intentions  had  been 
hostile,  and  that  in  such  a  character  only  I  could  have  be- 
come their  prisoner.  Not  only  did  these  young  people 
kiss  me,  but  I  (seeing  no  military  reason  against  it)  kissed 
them.  Really,  if  young  women  will  insist  on  kissing  major 
generals,  they  must  expect  that  the  generals  will  retaliate. 
One  only  of  the  crowd  adverted  to  the  character  in  which 
I  came  before  them  :  to  be  a  lawful  prisoner,  it  struck  her 
too  logical  mind  that  I  must  have  been  caught  in  some  ag- 
gressive practices.  "  Think,"  she  said,  "  of  this  little  dog 
fighting,  and  fighting  our  Jack."  "  But,"  said  another  in  a 
propitiatory  tone,  "  perhaps  he'll  not  do  so  any  more."  I 
was  touched  by  the  kindness  of  her  suggestion,  and  the 
sweet,  merciful  sound  of  that  same  '■'■Not  do  so  any  more,'''' 
which  really  was  prompted,  I  fear,  much  more  by  that 
charity  in  her  which  hopeth  all  things  than  by  any  signs 
of  amendment  in  myself.     Well  was  it  for  me  that  no  time 


90  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    S"KETCIIES. 

was  allowed  for  an  investigation  into  my  morals  bv  point- 
blank  questions  as  to  my  future  intentions.  In  wiiich  case 
It  would  have  appeared  too  undeniably,  that  the  same  sad 
necessity  which  had  planted  me  hitherto  in  a  position  of 
fiostility  to  their  estimable  families  would  continue  to  per- 
secute me  ;  and  that,  on  the  veiy  next  day,  duty  to  my 
brother,  hov/soever  it  might  struggle  with  gratitude  to  them- 
selves, would  range  me  in  martial  attitude,  with  a  pocket- 
ful of  stones,  meant,  alas  !  for  the  exclusive  use  of  their 
respectable  kinsmen.  Whilst  I  was  preparing  myself, 
however,  for  this  painful  exposition,  my  female  friends 
observed  issuing  from  the  factory  a  crowd  of  boys  not 
likely  at  all  to  improve  my  prospects.  Instantly  setting  me 
down  on  my  feet,  they  formed  a  sort  of  cordon  sanitaire 
behind  me,  by  stretching  out  their  petticoats  or  aprons,  as 
in  dancing,  so  as  to  touch  ;  and  then  crying  out,  "  Now, 
little  dog,  run  for  thy  life,"  prepared  themselves  (I  doubt 
not)  for  rescuing  me,  should  my  recapture  be  effected. 

But  this  was  not  effected,  although  attempted  with  an 
energy  that  alarmed  me,  and  even  perplexed  me  with  a 
vague  thought  (far  too  ambitious  for  my  years)  that  one  or 
two  of  the  pursuing  party  might  be  possessed  by  some 
demon  of  jealousy,  as  eye  witnesses  to  my  revelling 
amongst  the  lips  of  that  fair  girlish  bevy, kissing  and  being 
kissed,  loving  and  being  loved  ;  in  which  case,  from  all  that 
ever  I  had  read  about  jealousy,  (and  I  had  read  a  great 
deal  —  viz.,  "Othello,"  and  Collins's  "Ode  to  the  Pas- 
sions,") I  was  satisfied  that,  if  again  captured,  I  had  very 
little  chance  for  my  life.  That  jealousy  was  a  green-eyed 
monster,  nobody  could  know  better  than  I  did.  "  O,  my 
lord,  beware  of  jealousy !  "  Yes  ;  and  my  lord  couldn't 
possibly  have  more  reason  for  bewaring  of  it  than  myself; 
indeed,  well  it  would  have  been  had  his  lordship  run  away 
from    all    the    ministers   of   jealousy  —  lago,   Cassio,  and 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  91 

embroidered  handkerchiefs  —  at  the  same  pace  of  six  miles 
an  hour  which  kept  me  ahead  of  my  infuriated  pursuers. 
All,  that  maniac,  white  as  a  leper  with  flakes  of  cotton,  can 
I  ever  forget  him  — Mm  that  ran  so  far  in  advance  of  his 
party }  What  passion  but  jealousy  could  have  sustained 
him  in  so  hot  a  chase  ?  There  were  some  lovely  girls  in 
the  fair  company  that  had  so  condescendingly  caressed 
me  ;  but,  doubtless,  upon  that  sweet  creature  his  love  must 
have  settled,  who  suggested,  in  her  soft,  relenting  voice,  a 
penitence  in  me  that,  alas!  had  not  dawned,  saying,  '•''Yes  ; 
hut  perhaps  he  will  not  do  so  any  morey  Thinking,  as  I 
ran,  of  her  beauty,  I  felt  that  this  jealous  demoniac  must 
fancy  himself  justified  in  committing  seven  times  seven 
murders  uj)on  me,  if  he  should  have  it  in  his  power.  But, 
thank  Heaven,  if  jealousy  can  run  six  miles  an  hour,  there 
are  other  passions  —  as,  for  instance,  panic  —  that  can  run, 
upon  occasion,  six  and  a  half;  so,  as  I  had  the  start  of  him, 
(you  know,  reader,)  and  not  a  very  short  start,  —  thanks 
be  to  the  expanded  petticoats  of  my  dear  female  friends! 
—  naturally  it  happened  that  the  green-eyed  monster  came 
in  second  best.  Time,  luckily,  was  precious  with  him; 
and,  accordingly,  when  he  had  chased  me  into  the  by-road 
leading  down  to  Greenhay,  he  turned  back.  For  the  mo- 
ment, therefore,  I  found  myself  suddenly  released  from 
danger.  But  this  counted  for  nothing.  The  same  scene 
would  probably  revolve  upon  me  continually;  and,  on  the 
next  rehearsal.  Green-eyes  might  have  better  luck.  It 
saddened  me,  besides,  to  find  mj'self  under  the  political 
necessity  of  numbering  amongst  the  Philistines,  and  as 
daughters  of  Gath,  so  many  kind-hearted  girls,  whom,  by 
personal  proof,  I  knew  to  be  such.  In  the  profoundest 
sense,  I  was  unhappy  ;  and,  not  from  any  momentary  acci- 
dent of  distress,  but  from  deep  glimpses  which  now,  and 
heretofore,  had  opened  themselves,  as  occasions  arose,  into 


92  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

the  inevitable  conflic's  of  life.  One  of  the  saddest  among 
such  conflicts  is  the  necessity,  wheresoever  it  occurs,  of 
adopting — though  the  heart  should  disown  —  the  enmities 
of  one's  own  family,  or  country,  or  religious  sect.  In 
forms  how  afflicting  must  that  necessity  have  sometimes 
occurred  during  the  Parliamentary  war !  And,  in  after 
years,  amongst  our  beautiful  old  English  metrical  ro- 
mances, I  found  the  same  impassioned  complaint  uttered 
by  a  knight.  Sir  Ywain,  as  early  as  A.  D.  1240  — 

"  But  now,  where'er  I  stiviy  or  go, 
My  heart  she  has  that  is  ray  foe  !  " 

I  knew  —  I  anticipated  to  a  certainty  —  that  my  brother 
would  not  hear  of  any  merit  belonging  to  the  factory 
population  whom  every  day  we  had  to  meet  in  battle  ;  on 
the  contrary,  even  submission  on  their  part,  and  willing- 
ness to  walk  penitentially  through  the  Fiircce  Caudince, 
would  hardly  have  satisfied  his  sense  of  their  criminality. 
Often,  indeed,  as  we  came  in  view  of  the  factory,  he  would 
shake  his  fist  at  it,  and  say,  in  a  ferocious  tone  of  voice, 
"  Delenda  est  Carthago  ! "  And  certainly,  I  thought  to 
myself,  it  must  be  admitted  by  every  body,  that  the  factoiy 
people  are  inexcusable  in  raising  a  rebellion  against  my 
brother.  But  still  rebels  were  men,  and  sometimes  weie 
women ;  and  rebels,  that  stretch  out  their  petticoats  like 
fans  for  the  sake  of  screening  one  from  the  hot  pursuit  of 
enemies  with  fiery  eyes,  (green  or  otherwise,)  really  are  not 
the  sort  of  people  that  one  wishes  to  hate. 

Homewards,  therefore,  I  drew  in  sadness,  and  little 
doubting  that  hereafter  I  might  have  verbal  feuds  with  my 
brother  on  behalf  of  my  fair  friends,  but  not  dreaming  how 
much  displeasure  I  had  already  incurred  by  my  treason- 
able collusion  with  their  caresses.  That  part  of  the  affair 
he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes,  from  his  position  on  the 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  93 

field  ;  and  then  it  was  that  he  left  me  indignantly  to  my 
fate,  which,  by  my  first  reception,  it  was  easy  to  see  would 
not  prove  very  gloomy.  When  I  came  into  our  own  study, 
I  found  him  engaged  in  preparing  a  bulletin,  (which  word 
was  just  then  travelling  into  universal  use,)  reporting  briefly 
the  events  of  the  day.  The  art  of  drawing,  as  I  shall  again 
have  occasion  to  mention,  was  amongst  his  foremost  accom- 
plishments ;  and  round  the  margin  of  the  border  ran  a 
black  border,  ornamented  with  Cyprus  and  other  funereal 
emblems.  When  finished,  it  was  carried  into  the  room  of 
Mrs.  Evans.  This  Mrs.  Evans  was  an  important  person  in 
our  affairs.  My  mother,  who  never  chose  to  have  any 
direct  communication  with  her  servants,  always  had  a 
housekeeper  for  the  regulation  of  all  domestic  business ; 
and  the  housekeeper,  for  some  years,  was  this  Mrs.  Evans. 
Into  her  private  parlor,  where  she  sat  aloof  from  the  under 
servants,  my  brother  and  I  had  the  entree  at  all  times,  but 
upon  very  different  terms  of  acceptance  :  he  as  a  favorite 
of  the  first  class ;  7,  by  sufferance,  as  a  sort  of  gloomy 
shadow  that  ran  after  his  person,  and  could  not  well  be 
shut  out  if  he  were  let  in.  Him  she  admired  in  the  very 
highest  degree ;  myself,  on  the  contrary,  she  detested, 
which  made  me  unhappy.  But  then,  in  some  measure, 
she  made  amends  for  this,  by  despising  me  in  extremity ; 
and  for  that  I  was  truly  thankful  —  I  need  not  say  lo'hy,  as 
the  reader  already  knows.  Why  she  detested  me,  so  far 
as  I  know,  arose  in  part  out  of  my  thoughtfulness  indis- 
posed to  garrulity,  and  in  part  out  of  my  savage,  Orson- 
like sincerity.  I  had  a  great  deal  to  say,  but  then  I  could 
say  it  only  to  a  very  few  people,  amonjst  whom  Mrs. 
Evans  was  certainly  not  one ;  and,  when  I  did  say  any 
thing,  I  fear  that  dire  ignorance  prevented  my  laying  the 
proper  restraints  upon  my  too  liberal  candor;  and  that 
could  not  prove  acceptable  to  one  who  thought  nothing  of 


94  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

working  for  any  purpose,  or  for  no  purpose,  by  pettj'-  tricks, 
or  even  falsehoods  —  all  which  I  held  in  stern  abhorrence 
that  I  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal.  The  bulletin  on  this 
occasion,  garnished  with  this  pageantry  of  woe,  cypress 
wreaths,  and  arms  reversed,  was  read  aloud  to  Mrs.  Evans, 
indirectly,  therefore,  to  me.  It  communicated,  with  Spar- 
tan brevity,  the  sad  intelligence  (but  not  sad  to  Mrs.  E.) 
"  that  the  major  general  had  forever  disgraced  himself,  by 
submitting  to  the  caresses  of  the  enemy."     I  leave 

a  blank  for  the  epithet  affixed  to  "  caresses,"  not  because 
there  7cas  any  blank,  but,  on  the  contrary,  because  my 
brother's  wrath  had  boiled  over  in  such  a  hubble-bubble  of 
epithets,  some  only  half  erased,  some  doubtfully  erased, 
that  it  was  impossible,  out  of  the  various  readings,  to  pick 
out  the  true  classical  text.  "Infamous,"  "disgusting," 
and  "  odious  "  struggled  for  precedency  ;  and  infamous 
they  might  be ;  but  on  the  other  affixes  I  held  my  own 
private  opinions.  For  some  days,  my  brother's  displeasure 
continued  to  roll  in  reverberating  thunders ;  but  at  length 
it  growled  itself  to  rest ;  and  at  last  he  descended  to  mild 
expostulations  with  me,  showing  clearly,  in  a  series  of 
general  orders,  what  frightful  consequences  must  ensue,  if 
major  generals  (as  a  general  principle)  should  allow  them- 
selves to  be  kissed  by  the  enemy. 

About  this  time  my  brother  began  to  issue,  instead  of 
occasional  bulletins,  through  which  hitherto  he  had  breathed 
his  opinions  into  the  ear  of  the  public,  (viz.,  of  ]\Irs.  Evans,) 
a  regular  gazette,  which,  in  imitation  of  the  London  Ga- 
zette, was  published  twice  a  week.  I  suppose  that  no 
creature  ever  led  such  a  life  as  /  did  in  that  gazette. 
Run  up  to  the  giddiest  heights  of  promotion  on  one  day,  for 
merits  which  I  could  not  myself  discern,  in  a  week  or  two 
I  was  brought  to  a  court  martial  for  offences  equally  ob- 
scure.    I  was  cashiered  ;  I  was  restored  "  on  the  interces- 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  95 

sion  of  a  tlistingnislied  latly  ; "  (Mrs.  Evans,  to  wit;)  T  was 
threatened  with  being  drummed  out  of  the  army,  to  the 
music  of  the  "  Rogue's  March  ;"  and  then,  in  tlie  midst  of 
all  this  misery  and  degradation,  upon  the  discovery  of  some 
supposed  energy  that  I  had  manifested,  I  was  decorated 
with  the  Order  of  the  Bath.  My  reading  had  been  exten- 
sive enough  to  give  me  some  vague  aerial  sense  of  the 
honor  involved  in  such  a  decoration,  whilst  I  was  pro- 
foundly ignorant  of  the  channels  through  which  it  could 
reach  an  individual,  and  of  the  sole  fountain  from  which  it 
could  flow.  But,  in  this  enormity  of  dispro|)ortion  between 
the  cause  and  the  effect,  between  the  agency  and  the  result, 
I  saw  nothing  more  astonishing  than  I  had  seen  in  many 
other  cases  confessedly  true.  Thousands  of  vast  effects, 
by  all  that  I  had  heard,  linked  themselves  to  causes  appar- 
ently trivial.  The  dreadful  taint  of  scrofula,  according 
to  the  belief  of  all  Christendom,  fled  at  the  simple  touch 
of  a  Stuart*  sovereign:  no  miracle  in  the  Bible,  from 
Jordan  or  from  Bethesda,  could  be  more  sudden  or  more 
astoundingly  victorious.  By  my  own  experience,  again,  I 
knew  that  a  styan  (as  it  is  called)  upon  the  eyelid  could  be 
easily  reduced,  though  not  instantaneously,  by  the  slight 
application  of  any  golden  trinket.  Warts  upon  the  fingers 
of  children  I  had  myself  known  to  vanish  under  the  verbal 
charm  of  a  gypsy  woman,  without  any  medicinal  applica- 
tion whatever.      And  I  well   knew,  that  almost  all  nations 

*  "  0/  a  Stuart  soi^ereign,"  and  by  no  means  of  a  Stuart  only. 
Queen  Anne,  the  last  Stuart  who  sat  on  the  British  throne,  was  the 
last  of  our  princes  who  touched  for  the  kiii(fs  evil,  (as  scrofula  was 
generally  called  until  lately ;)  hut  the  Bourbon  houses,  on  the 
thrones  of  France,  Spain,  and  Naples,  as  well  as  the  house  of 
Savoy,  claimed  and  exercised  the  same  supernatural  privilege  down 
to  a  much  later  period  than  the  year  1714  —  the  last  of  Queen  Anne: 
accordiiiff  to  their  own  and  the  popular  faith,  they  could  have 
cleansed  Naaman  the  Syrian,  and  Gchazi  too. 


96  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

believed  in  the  dreadful  mystery  of  the  evil  eye ;  some  requir- 
ing, as  a  condition  of  the  evil  agency,  the  co-presence  of 
malice  in  the  agent  ;  but  others,  as  appeared  from  my 
father's  Portuguese  recollections,  ascribing  the  same  horrid 
power  to  the  eye  of  certain  select  persons,  even  though 
innocent  of  all  malignant  purpose,  and  absolutely  uncon- 
scious of  their  own  fatal  gift,  until  awakened  to  it  by  the 
results.  VVhy,  therefore,  should  there  be  any  thing  to 
shock,  or  even  to  surprise,  in  the  power  claimed  by  my 
brother,  as  an  attribute  inalienable  from  primogeniture  in 
certain  select  families,  of  conferring  knightly  honors? 
The  red  ribbon  of  the  Bath  he  certainly  did  confer  upon 
me ;  and  once,  in  a  paroxysm  of  imprudent  liberality,  he 
promised  me  at  the  end  of  certain  months,  supposing  that 
I  swerved  from  my  duty  by  no  atrocious  delinquency,  the 
Garter  itself.  This,  I  knew,  was  a  far  loftier  distinction 
than  the  Bath.  Even  then  it  was  so  ;  and  since  those  days 
it  has  become  much  more  so ;  because  the  long  roll  of 
martial  services  in  the  great  war  with  Napoleon  compelled 
our  government  greatly  to  widen  the  basis  of  the  Bath. 
This  promise  was  never  fulfilled  ;  but  not  for  any  want 
of  clamorous  persecution  on  my  part  addressed  to  my 
brother's  wearied  ear  and  somewhat  callous  sense  of 
honor.  Every  fortnight,  or  so,  I  took  care  that  he  should  re- 
ceive a  "  refresher,"  as  lawyers  call  it,  —  a  new  and  revised 
brief,  —  memorializing  my  pretensions.  These  it  was  my 
brother's  policy  to  parry,  by  alleged  instances  of  recent 
misconduct  on  my  part.  But  all  such  offences,  I  insisted, 
were  thoroughly  washed  away  by  subsequent  services  in 
moments  of  peril,  such  as  he  himself  could  not  always 
deny.  In  reality,  I  believe  his  real  motive  for  withholding 
the  Garter  was,  that  he  had  nothing  better  to  bestow  upon 
himself. 

"  Now,  look  here,"  he  would   say,  appealing  to   Mrs. 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  1)7 

Evans  ;  "  I  suppose  there's  a  matter  of  half  a  dozen  kings 
on  the  continent,  that  would  consent  to  lose  three  of  their 
fingers,  if  by  such  a  sacrifice  they  could  purchase  the  blue 
ribbon ;  and  here  is  this  little  scamp,  conceiting  himself 
entitled  to  it  before  he  has  finished  two  campaigns."  But 
I  was  not  the  person  to  be  beaten  off  in  this  fashion.  I 
took  my  stand  upon  the  promise.  A  promise  loas  a  prom- 
ise, even  if  made  to  a  scamp  ;  and  then,  besides but 

there  I  hesitated  ;  awful  thoughts  interposed  to  check  me  ; 
else  I  wished  to  suggest  that,  perhaps,  some  two  or  three 
among  that  half  dozen  kings  might  also  be  scamps.  How- 
ever, I  reduced  the  case  to  this  plain  dilemma  :  These  six 
kings  had  received  a  promise,  or  they  had  not.  If  they  had 
not,  my  case  was  better  than  theirs  ;  if  they  had,  then,  said 

I,  "  all  seven  of  us  " 1  was  going  to  add,  "  arc  sailing 

in  the  same  boat,"  or  something  to  that  effect,  though  not 
so  picturesquely  expressed  ;  but  I  was  interrupted  by  his 
deadly  frown  at  my  audacity  in  thus  linking  myself  on  as  a 
seventh  to  this  attelage  of  kings,  and  that  such  an  absolute 
grub  should  dream  of  rankuig  as  one  in  a  bright  pleiad  of 
pretenders  to  the  Garter.  I  had  not  particularly  thought  of 
that ;  but  now,  that  such  a  demur  was  offered  to  my  con- 
sideration, I  thought  of  reminding  him  that,  in  a  certain 
shadowy  sense,  I  also  might  presume  to  class  myself  as  a 
king,  the  meaning  of  which  was  this  :  Both  my  brother  and 
myself,  for  the  sake  of  varymg  our  intellectual  amuse- 
ments, occupied  ourselves  at  times  in  governing  imaginaiy 
kingdoms.  I  do  not  mention  this  as  any  thing  unusual ;  it 
is  a  common  resource  of  mental  activity  and  of  aspiring 
energies  amongst  boys.  Hartley  Coleridge,  for  example, 
had  a  kingdom  which  he  governed  for  many  years  ;  whether 
well  or  ill,  is  more  than  I  can  say.  Kindly,  I  am  sure,  he 
would  govern  it ;  but,  unless  a  machine  had  been  invented 
fur  enabling  him  lo  write  without  effort,  (as  was  really  done 
7 


98  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

for  our  fourth  George  during  the  pressure  of  iUaess,)  I  feal 
that  the  public  service  must  have  languished  deplorably  for 
want  of  the  royal  signature.  In  sailing  past  his  own  domin- 
ions, what  dolorous  outcries  would  have  saluted  him  from 
the  shore  —  "  Hollo,  royal  sir  !  here's  the  deuse  to  pay  :  a 
perfect  lock  there  is,  as  tight  as  locked  jaw,  upon  the  course 
of  our  public  business  ;  throats  there  are  to  be  cut,  from  the 
product  of  ten  jail  deliveries,  and  nobody  dares  to  cut  them, 
for  want  of  the  proper  warrant ;  archbishoprics  there  are  to  be 
filled;  and,  because  they  are  not  filled,  the  whole  nation  is 
running  helter  skelter  into  heresy  —  and  all  in  consequence 
of  your  majesty's  sacred  laziness."  Our  governments 
were  less  remissly  administered ;  since  each  of  us,  by  con- 
tinued reports  of  improvements  and  gracious  concessions 
to  the  folly  or  the  weakness  of  our  subjects,  stimulated  the 
zeal  of  his  rival.  And  here,  at  least,  there  seemed  to  be 
no  reason  why  I  should  come  into  collision  with  my 
brother.  At  any  rate,  I  took  pains  not  to  do  so.  But  all 
was  in  vain.  My  destiny  was,  to  live  in  one  eternal  ele- 
ment of  feud. 

My  own  kingdom  was  an  island  called  Gombroon.  But 
in  what  parallel  of  north  or  south  latitude  it  lay,  I  con- 
cealed for  a  time  as  rigorously  as  ancient  Rome  through 
every  century  concealed  her  real  name.*  The  object  in 
this  provisional  concealment  was,  to  regulate  the  posi- 
tion of  my  own  territory  by  that  of  my  brother's ;    for  I 

*  One  reason,  I  believe,  why  it  was  hold  a  point  of  wisdom  in  an- 
cient days  that  the  metropolis  of  a  warlike  state  should  have  a  secret 
uame  hidden  from  the  world,  lay  in  the  pagan  practice  of  evocation, 
applied  to  the  tutelary  deities  of  such  a  state.  These  deities  might 
be  lured  by  certain  rites  and  briberies  into  a  transfer  of  their  favors 
to  the  besieging  army.  But,  in  order  to  make  such  an  evocation 
effectual,  it  was  necessary  to  know  the  original  and  secret  name  of 
the  beleaguered  city ;  and  this,  therefore,  was  religiously  concealed. 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  99 

was  determined  to  place  a  monstrous  world  of  waters  be- 
tween us  as  the  only  chance  (and  a  very  poor  one  it 
proved)  for  compelling  my  brother  to  keep  the  peace.  At 
length,  for  some  reason  unknown  to  me,  and  much  to  my  as- 
tonishment, he  located  his  capital  city  in  the  high  latitude  of 
65  deg.  N,  That  fact  being  once  published  and  settled,  in- 
stantly I  smacked  my  little  kingdom  of  Gombroon  down  into 
the  tropics,  10  deg.,  I  think,  south  of  the  line.  Now,  at 
least,  I  was  on  the  right  side  of  the  hedge,  or  so  1  flattered 
myself;  for  it  struck  me  that  my  brother  never  would  de- 
grade himself  by  fitting  out  a  costly  nautical  expedition 
against  poor  little  Gombroon  ;  and  how  else  could  he  get 
at  me  ?  Surely  the  very  fiend  himself,  if  he  happened  to 
be  in  a  high  arctic  latitude,  would  not  indulge  his  malice 
so  far  as  to  follow  its  trail  into  the  tropic  of  Capricorn. 
And  what  was  to  be  got  by  such  a  freak  ?  There  was  no 
Golden  Fleece  in  Gombroon.  If  the  fiend  or  my  brother 
fancied  that,  for  once  they  were  in  the  wrong  box ;  and 
there  was  no  variety  of  vegetable  produce,  for  I  never  de- 
nied that  the  poor  little  island  was  only  270  miles  in  cir- 
cuit. Think,  then,  of  sailing  through  75  deg.  of  latitude 
only  to  crack  such  a  miserable  little  filbert  as  that.  But 
my  brother  stunned  me  by  explaining,  that,  although  his 
capital  lay  in  lat.  65  deg.  N.,  not  the  less  his  dominions 
swept  southwards  through  a  matter  of  80  or  90  deg. ;  and 
as  to  the  tropic  of  Capricorn,  much  of  it  was  his  own  pri- 
vate property.  I  was  aghast  at  hearing  that.  It  seemed 
that  vast  horns  and  promontories  ran  down  from  all  parts 
of  his  dominions  towards  any  country  whatsoever,  in  either 
hemisphere,  —  empire  or  republic,  monarchy,  polyarchy, 
or  anarchy,  —  that  he  might  have  reasons  for  assaulting. 

Flere  in  one  moment  vanished  all  that  I  had  relied  on 
for  protection  :  distance  I  had  relied  on,  and  suddenly  I 
was  found  in  close  neighborhood  to  my  most  formidable 


100  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

enemy.  Poverty  I  had  relied  on,  and  that  was  not  dtnicd  . 
he  granted  the  poverty,  but  it  was  dependent  on  the  bar- 
barism of  the  Gombroonians.  It  seems  that  in  the  central 
forests  of  Gombroonia  there  were  diamond  mines,  which 
my  people,  from  their  low  condition  of  civilization,  did  not 
value,  nor  had  any  means  of  working.  Farewell,  there- 
fore, on  my  side,  to  all  hopes  of  enduring  peace,  for  here 
w'as  established,  in  legal  phrase,  a  lien  forever  upon  my 
island,  and  not  upon  its  margin,  but  its  very  centre,  in  fa- 
vor of  any  invaders  better  able  than  the  natives  to  make 
its  treasures  available.  For,  of  old,  it  was  an  article  in 
my  brother's  code  of  morals,  that,  supposing  a  contest 
between  any  two  parties,  of  which  one  possessed  an  article, 
whilst  the  other  was  better  able  to  use  it,  the  rightful  prop- 
erty vested  in  the  latter.  As  if  you  met  a  man  with  a 
musket,  then  you  might  justly  challenge  him  to  a  trial  in 
the  art  of  making  gunpowder ;  which  if  you  could  make, 
and  he  could  not,  in  that  case  the  musket  was  de  jure 
yours.  For  what  shadow  of  a  right  had  the  fellow  to  a 
noble  instrument  which  he  could  not  "  maintain  "  in  a  ser- 
viceable condition,  and  "  feed "  with  its  daily  rations  of 
powder  and  shot  ?  Still,  it  may  be  fancied  that,  since 
all  the  relations  between  us  as  independent  sovereigns 
(whether  of  war,  or  peace,  or  treaty)  rested  upon  our  own 
representations  and  official  reports,  it  was  surely  within 
my  competence  to  deny  or  qualify  as  much  as  within  his 
to  assert.  But,  in  reality,  the  law  of  the  contest  between 
us,  as  suggested  by  some  instinct  of  propriety  in  my  own 
mind,  would  not  allow  me  to  proceed  in  such  a  method. 
What  he  said  was  like  a  move  at  chess  or  draughts,  which 
it  was  childish  to  dispute.  The  move  bei:jg  made,  my 
business  was  —  to  face  it,  to  pariy  it,  to  evade  it,  and,  if  I 
could,  to  overthrow  it.  1  proceeded  as  a  lawyer  who 
moves  as  long  as  he  can,  not  by  blank  denial  of  facts,  (or 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  lOl 

comiAg  to  an  isstie,)  but  by  demurring,  (i.  e.,  admittirig  the 
allegations  of  fact,  but  otherwise  interpreting  their  con- 
struct on.)  It  was  the  understood  necessity  of  the  case 
that  I  must  passively  accept  my  brother's  statements  so  far 
as  regarded  their  verbal  expression  ;  and,  if  I  would  extri- 
cate my  poor  islanders  from  their  troubles,  it  must  be  by 
some  distinction  or  evasion  lying  within  this  expression,  or 
not  blankly  contradicting  it. 

"  How,  and  to  what  extent,"  my  brother  asked,  "  did  I 
raise  taxes  upon  my  subjects  ?  "  My  first  impulse  was  to 
say,  that  I  did  not  tax  them  at  all,  for  I  had  a  perfect  hor- 
ror of  doing  so ;  but  prudence  would  not  allow  of  my  say- 
ing that ;  because  it  was  too  probable  he  would  demand  to 
know  how,  in  that  case,  I  maintained  a  standing  army  ;  and 
if  I  once  allowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  I  had  none,  there 
was  an  end  forever  to  the  independence  of  my  people. 
Poor  things !  they  would  have  been  invaded  and  dragooned 
in  a  month,  I  took  some  days,  therefore,  to  consider  that 
point;  but  at  last  replied,  that  my  people,  being  maritime, 
supported  themselves  mainly  by  a  herring  fishery,  from 
which  I  deducted  a  part  of  the  produce,  and  afterwar(!ls 
sold  it  for  manure  to  neighboring  nations.  This  last  hint  1 
borrowed  from  the  conversation  of  a  stranger  who  hap- 
pened to  dine  one  day  at  Greenhay,  and  mentioned  that  in 
Devonshire,  or  at  least  on  the  western  coast  of  that  county, 
near  Ilfracombe,  upon  any  excessive  take  of  herrings,  be- 
yond what  the  markets  could  absorb,  the  surplus  was  ap- 
plied to  the  land  as  a  valuable  dressing.  It  might  be  in- 
ferred from  this  account,  however,  that  the  arts  must  be  in 
a  languishing  state  amongst  a  people  that  did  not  under- 
stand the  process  of  salting  fish ;  and  my  brother  observed 
derisively,  mi  ch  to  my  grief,  that  a  wretched  ichthyopha- 
gous people  must  make  shocking  soldiers,  weak  as  water, 
and  liable  to  be  knocked  over  like  ninepins ;  whereas,  in 


102  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

his  army,  not  a  man  ever  ate  herrings,  pilchards,  mack- 
erels, or,  in  fact,  condescended  to  any  thing  worse  than  sur- 
loins  of  beef. 

At  every  step  I  had  to  contend  for  the  honor  and  inde- 
pendence of  my  islanders ;  so  that  early  I  came  to  under- 
stand the  weight  of  Shakspeare's  sentiment  — 

"  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown  ! " 

0  reader,  do  not  laugh  !  I  lived  forever  under  the  terror 
of  two  separate  wars  in  two  separate  worlds  :  one  against 
the  factory  boys,  in  a  real  world  of  flesh  and  blood,  of 
stones  and  brickbats,  of  flight  and  pursuit,  that  were  any 
tiling  but  figurative ;  the  other  in  a  world  purely  aerial, 
where  all  the  combats  and  the  sufltrings  were  absolute 
moonshine.  And  yet  the  simple  truth  is,  that,  for  anxiety 
and  distress  of  mind,  the  reality  (which  almost  every  morn- 
ing's light  brought  round)  was  as  nothing  in  comparison  of 
that  dream  kingdom  which  rose  like  a  vapor  from  my  own 
brain,  and  which  apparently  by  the^cr^  of  my  will  could  be 
forever  dissolved.  Ah  !  but  no  ;  1  had  contracted  obliga- 
tions to  Gombroon  ;  I  had  submitted  my  conscience  to  a 
yoke  ;  and  in  secret  truth  mj-  will  had  no  such  autocratic 
power.  Long  contemplation  of  a  shadow,  earnest  study 
for  the  welfare  of  that  shadow,  sympathy  with  the  wounded 
sensibilities  of  that  shadow  under  accumulated  wrongs, 
these  bitter  experiences,  nursed  by  brooding  thought,  had 
gradually  frozen  that  shadow  into  a  rigor  of  reality  far  dens- 
er than  the  material  realities  of  brass  or  granite.  Who 
builds  the  most  durable  dwellings?  asks  the  laborer  in 
"Hamlet;"  and  the  answer  is,  The  gravedigger.  He 
builds  for  corruption  ;  and  yet  his  tenements  are  incorrupti- 
ble :    "  the  houses  which  he  makes  last  to  doomsday."  * 

*  Hamlet,  Act  v.,  scene  1. 


INTRODTTCTiON    TO    THE    WOHLD    OF    STRIFE.  103 

Who  is  it  that  seeks  for  conceahnent  ?  Let  him  l)ide  him- 
self* in  the  unsearchable  chambers  of  light,  —  of  light 
which  at  noonday,  more  effectually  than  any  gloom,  con- 

*  "  Hide  himself  in  —  //r;A^"  —  Tlie  greatest  scholar,  by  far,  that 
this  ishmd  ever  produced,  viz.,  Richard  Bentley,  pulilished  (as  is  well 
known)  a  4to  volume  that  in  some  respects  is  the  very  worst  4to  now 
extant  in  the  world  —  viz.,  a  critical  edition  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost." 
I  observe,  in  the  "  Edinburj^h  Review,"  (July,  1S51,  No.  191,  p.  15,) 
that  a  learned  critic  supposes  Bentley  to  have  meant  this  edition  as  a 
"  practical  jest."  Not  at  all.  Neither  could  the  critic  have  fancied 
such  a  possibility,  if  he  had  taken  the  troulde  (which  /  did  many  a 
year  back)  to  examine  it.  A  jest  book  it  certainly  is,  and  the  most 
prosperous  of  jest  books,  but  undoubtedly  never  meant  for  such  by 
the  author.  A  man  whose  lips  are  livid  with  anger  does  not  jest,  and 
does  not  understand  jesting.  Still,  the  Edinburgh  Reviewer  is  riglit 
about  the  proper  functions  of  the  book,  though  wrong  about  the  in- 
tentions of  the  author.  The  fact  is,  the  man  was  maniacally  in  error, 
and  always  in  error,  as  regarded  the  ultimate  or  poetic  truth  of  Mil- 
ton ;  but,  as  regarded  truth  reputed  and  truth  apparent.,  he  often  had 
the  air  of  being  furiously  in  the  right ;  an  example  of  which  I  will 
cite.  Milton,  in  the  First  Book  of  the  "  Paradise  Lost,"  had  said,  — 
"  That  from  the  secret  top 
Of  Oreb  or  of  Sinai  didst  inspire ;" 
upon  which  Bentley  comments  in  effect  thus:  "  How  !  —  the  exposed 
summit  of  a  mountain  secret?  Why,  it's  like  Charing  Cross  —  al- 
ways the  least  secret  place  in  the  whole  county."  So  one  might  fan- 
cy ;  since  the  summit  of  a  mountain,  like  Plinlimmon  or  Cader  Idris 
in  Wales,  like  Skiddaw  or  Ilelvellyn  in  England,  constitutes  a  ceii- 
ti-al  object  of  attention  and  gaze  for  the  whole  circumjacent  district, 
measured  by  a  radius  sometimes  of  15  to  20  miles.  Upon  this  con- 
sideration, Bentley  instructs  us  to  substitute  as  the  true  reading  — 
"That  on  tlie  sacred  top,"  &c.  Meantime,  an  actual  experiment  will 
demonstrate  that  there  is  no  place  so  absolutely  secret  and  hidden  as 
the  exposed  summit  of  a  mountain,  3500  feet  high,  in  respect  to  an 
eye  stationed  in  the  valley  immediately  below.  A  whole  party  of 
men,  women,  horses,  and  even  tents,  looked  at  under  those  circum- 
stances, is  absolutely  invisible  unless  by  the  aid  of  glasses :  and  it  be- 
comes evident  that  a  murder  might  be  committed  on  the  bare  open 
summit  of  such  a  mountain  with  more  assurance  of  absolute  secrecy 
than  any  where  else  in  the  whole  siuTounding  district. 


1C4  AUTOBIOGEAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

ceals  the  very  brightest  stars,  —  rather  than  in  labyrinths  of 
darkness  the  thickest.  What  criminal  is  that  who  wishes  to 
abscond  from  public  justice  ?  Let  him  hurry  into  the  fran- 
tic publicities  of  London,  and  by  no  means  into  the  quiet 
privacies  of  the  country.  So,  and  upon  the  analogy  of  these 
cases,  we  may  understand  that,  to  make  a  strife  overwhelm- 
ing by  a  thousand  fold  to  the  feelings,  it  must  not  deal  with 
gross  material  interests,  but  with  such  as  rise  into  the  world 
of  dreams,  and  act  upon  the  nerves  through  spiritual,  and 
not  through  fleshly  torments.  Mine,  in  the  present  case, 
rose  suddenly,  like  a  rocket,  into  their  meridian  altitude,  by 
means  of  a  hint  furnished  to  my  brother  from  a  Scotch  ad- 
vocate's reveries. 

This  advocate,  who  by  his  writings  became  the  remote 
cause  of  so  much  affliction  to  my  childhood,  and  struck  a 
blow  at  the  dignity  of  Gombroon,  that  neither  my  brother 
nor  all  the  forces  of  Tigrosylvania  (my  brother's  kingdom) 
ever  could  have  devised,  was  the  celebrated  James  Burnett, 
better  known  to  the  English  public  by  his  judicial  title  of 
Lord  Monboddo.  The  Burnetts  of  Monboddo,  I  have  often 
heard,  were  a  race  distinguished  for  their  intellectual  ac- 
complishments through  several  successive  generations;  and 
the  judge  in  question  was  eminently  so.  It  did  him  no  in- 
jury that  many  people  regarded  him  as  crazy.  In  Eng- 
land, at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century,  we  had  a  say- 
ing,* in  reference  to  the  Harveys  of  Lord  Bristol's  family, 
equally  distinguished  for  wit,  beauty,  and  eccentricity,  that 
at  the  creation  there  had  been  three  kinds  of  people  made, 
viz.,  men,  women,  and  Harveys;  and  by  all  accounts, 
something  of  the  same  kind  might  plausibly  have  been 
said  in  Scotland  about  the  Burnetts.  Lord  Monboddo's 
nieces,  of  whom  one  perished  by  falling  from   a  precipice, 

*  Vniich  "stf)///?(7"  is  sometimes  asciibetl,  I  know  not  how  truly, 
to  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu. 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  105 

(and,  as  I  have  heard,  through  mere  absence  of  mhid, 
whilst  musing  upon  a  book  which  she  carried  in  her  hand,) 
still  survive  in  the  affection  of  many  friends,  through  the 
interest  attached  to  their  intellectual  gifts ;  and  Miss  Bur- 
nett, the  daughter  of  the  judge,  is  remembered  in  all  the 
memorials  of  Burns  the  poet,  as  the  most  beautiful,  and 
otherwise  the  most  interesting,  of  his  female  aristocratic 
friends  in  Edinburgh.  Lord  Monboddo  himself  trod  an 
eccentric  path  in  literature  and  philosophy  ;  and  our  tutor, 
who  spent  his  whole  life  in  reading,  withdrawing  himself  in 
that  way  from  the  anxieties  incident  to  a  narrow  income 
and  a  large  family,  found,  no  doubt,  a  vast  fund  of  interest- 
ing suggestions  in  Lord  M.'s  "  Dissertations  on  the  Origin 
of  Language ; "  but  to  us  he  communicated  only  one  sec- 
tion of  the  work.  It  was  a  long  passage,  containing  some 
very  useful  illustrations  of  a  Greek  idiom ;  useful  I  call 
them,  because  four  years  afterwards,  when  I  had  made 
great  advances  in  my  knowledge  of  Greek,  they  so  ap- 
peared to  me.*     But  then,  being  scarcely  seven  years  old, 

*  It  strikes  me,  upon  second  thoughts,  that  the  particular  idiom, 
which  Lord  Monboddo  illustrated  as  regarded  the  Greek  language, 
merits  a  momentary  notice;  and  for  this  reason  —  that  it  plays  a  part 
not  at  all  less  conspicuous  or  less  delicate  in  the  Latin.  Here  is  an 
instance  of  its  use  in  Greek,  taken  from  the  well-known  night  scene  in 
tJie  "Iliad:"  — 

ynOrjae  le  votiicvos  rirop, 

And  the  he.irt  of  the  shepherd  rejoices;  where  the  verb  yj/Sijus  is  in 
the  indefinite  or  aorist  tense,  and  is  meant  to  indicate  a  condition  of 
feeling  not  limited  to  any  time  whatever  —  past,  present,  or  future. 
In  Latin,  the  force  and  elegance  of  this  usage  are  equally  impressive, 
if  not  more  so.  At  this  moment,  I  remember  two  eases  of  this  in 
Horace :  — 

1.  "  Earo  antecedentem  scelestum 

Deseruit  pede  poena  claudo  ;  " 

2.  "  ssepe  Diespiter 
Neglectus  incesto  addidit  integrum." 


106  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

as  soon  as  our  tutor  had  finished  his  long  extract  from  the 
Scottish  judge's  prelection,  I  could  express  my  thankful- 
ness for  what  I  had  received  only  by  composing  my  fea- 
tures to  a  deeper  solemnity  and  sadness  than  usual  —  no 
very  easy  task,  I  have  been  told  ;  otherwise,  I  really  had 
not  the  remotest  conception  of  what  his  lordship  meant. 
I  knew  very  well  the  thing  callec  a  tense;  I  knew  even 
then  by  name  the  Aoristus  Prinms,  as  a  respectable  tense 
in  the  Greek  language.  It  (or  shall  we  say  he  ?)  was 
known  to  the  whole  Christian  world  by  this  distinction  of 
Primus ;  clearly,  therefore,  there  must  be  some  low,  vul- 
gar tense  in  the  background,  pretending  also  to  the  name 
of  Aorist,  but  universally  scouted  as  the  Aoristus  Secun- 
dus,  or  Birmingham  counterfeit.  So  that,  unable  as  I  was, 
from  ignorance,  to  go  along  with  Lord  M.'s  appreciation 
of  his  pretensions,  still,  had  it  been  possible  to  meet  an 
Aoristus  Primus  in  the  flesh,  I  should  have  bowed  to  him 
submissively,  as  to  one  apparently  endowed  with  the  mys- 
terious   rights    of   primogeniture.      Not    so    my   brother. 

That  is  —  "oftentimes  the  supreme  ruler,  when  treated  with  neglect, 
confounds  or  unites  (not  Juis  united,  as  the  tyro  might  fancy)  the  im- 
pure man  with  the  upright  in  one  common  fiite." 

Exceedingly  common  is  this  usage  in  Latin  poetry,  when  the  ob- 
ject is  to  generalize  a  remark  —  as  not  connected  with  one  mode  of 
time  more  than  another.  In  reality,  all  three  modes  of  time  —  past, 
present,  future  —  are  used  (though  not  equally  used)  in  all  languages 
for  this  purpose  of  generalization.     Thus,  — 

1.  T^hQ  future;  as,  Sapiens  dominabitur  astris ; 

2.  The  present ;  as,  Fortes  fortuna  juvat ; 

3.  The  jmst ;  as  in  the  two  cases  cited  from  Horace. 

But  this  practice  holds  equally  in  English:  as  to  the  future  and 
the  present,  nobody  will  doubt  it ;  and  here  is  a  case  from  the  past: 
"  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  There  is  no  God ; "  not  meaning, 
that  in  some  past  time  he  has  said  so,  but  that  generally  in  all  times 
he  does  say  so,  and  ivill  say  so. 


INTEODTJCTION    TC    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  107 

Aorist,  indeed  !  Primus  or  Secundus,  what  mattered  it  ? 
Paving  stones  were  something,  brickbats  were  something; 
but  an  old  superannuated  tense  !  Tliat  any  grown  man 
should  trouble  himself  about  that  !  Indeed,  there  loas  some- 
thing extraordinary  there.  For  it  is  not  amongst  the  ordi- 
nary functions  of  lawyers  to  take  charge  of  Greek  ;  far 
less,  one  might  suppose,  of  lawyers  in  Scotland,  where  the 
general  system  of  education  has  moved  for  two  centuries 
upon  a  principle  of  slight  regard  to  classical  literature. 
Latin  literature  was  very  much  neglected,  and  Greek  nearly 
altogether.  The  more  was  the  astonishment  at  finding  a 
rare  delicacy  of  critical  instinct,  as  well  as  of  critical  sa- 
gacity, applied  to  the  Greek  idiomatic  niceties  by  a  Scottish 
lawyer,  viz.,  that  same  eccentric  judge,  first  made  known 
to  us  by  our  tutor. 

To  the  majority  of  readers,  meantime,  at  this  day.  Lord 
M.  is  memorable  chiefly  for  his  craze  about  the  degeneracy 
of  us  poor  moderns,  when  compared  with  the  men  of  pagan 
antiquity  ;  which  craze  itself  might  possibly  not  have  been 
generally  known,  except  in  connection  with  the  little  skir- 
mish between  him  and  Dr.  Johnson,  noticed  in  Boswell's 
account  of  the  doctor's  Scottish  tour.  "  Ah,  doctor,"  said 
Lord  M.,  upon  some  casual  suggestion  of  that  topic,  "  poor 
creatures  are  we  of  this  eighteenth  century ;  our  fathers 
were  better  men  than  we ! "  "  O,  no,  my  lord,"  was 
Johnson's  reply  ;  "  we  are  quite  as  strong  as  our  forefathers, 
and  a  great  deal  wiser  !  "  Such  a  craze,  however,  is  too 
Avidely  diffused,  and  falls  in  with  too  obstinate  a  preconcep- 
tion *  in  the  human  race,  which  has  in  every  age  hypochon- 

*  '■'Too  obstinate  a  preconception."  — Until  the  birth  of  geology,  and 
of  fossil  paleontology,  concurring  with  vast  strides  ahead  in  the 
science  of  comparative  anatomy,  it  is  a  well-established  fact,  that 
oftentimes  the  most  scientific  museum  admitted  as  genuine  fragments 
of  the  human  osteology  what  in  fact  belonged  to  the  gigantic  brutes 


108  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

driacally  regarded  itself  as  under  some  fatal  necessity  of 
dwindling,  much  to  have  challenged  public  attention.  As 
real  paradoxes  (spite  of  the  idle  meaning  attached  usually 
to  the  word  paradox)  have  often  no  falsehood  in  them,  so 
here,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  falsehood  which  had  in  it  noth- 
ing paradoxical.    It  contradicted  all  the  indications  of  history 


of  our  earth  in  her  earliest  stages  of  development.  This  mistake 
would  go  some  way  in  accounting  for  the  absurd  disposition  in  all 
generations  to  view  themselves  as  abridged  editions  of  their  fore- 
fathers. Added  to  which,  as  a  separate  cause  of  error,  there  can  be 
little  doubt,  that  intermingled  with  the  human  race  there  has  at  most 
periods  of  the  world  been  a  separate  and  Titanic  race,  such  as  the 
Anakim  amongst  the  peoples  of  Palestine,  the  Cyclopean  race  dif- 
fused over  the  Mediterranean  in  the  elder  ages  of  Greece,  and  certain 
tribes  amongst  tlie  Alps,  known  to  Evelyn  in  his  youth  (about  Crom- 
well's time)  by  an  unpleasant  travelling  experience.  These  gigantic 
races,  however,  were  no  arguments  for  a  degeneration  amongst  the 
rest  of  mankind.  They  were  evidently  a  variety  of  man,  coexistent 
with  the  ordinary  races,  but  liable  to  be  absorbed  and  gradually  lost 
by  intermarriage  amongst  other  tribes  of  the  ordinary  standard.  Oc- 
casional exhumations  of  such  Titan  skeletons  would  strengthen  the 
common  prejudice.  They  would  be  taken,  not  for  a  local  variety,  but 
for  an  antediluvian  or  prehistoric  type,  from  which  the  present  races 
of  man  had  arisen  by  gradual  degeneration. 

These  cases  of  actual  but  misinterpreted  experience,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  naturally  must  tend  to  fortify  the  ])opuhir  prejudice, 
would  also,  by  accounting  for  it,  and  ingrafting  it  upon  a  reasonable 
origin,  so  far  tend  to  take  from  it  the  reproach  of  a  prejudice.  Though 
erroneous,  it  would  yet  seem  to  us,  in  looking  back  upon  it,  a  rational 
and  even  an  inevitable  opinion,  having  such  plausible  grounds  to 
stand  upon ;  plausible,  I  mean,  until  science  and  accurate  examina- 
tion of  the  several  cases  had  begun  to  read  them  into  a  different  con- 
struction. Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  in  spite  of  any  colorable  excuses 
that  may  be  pleaded  for  this  prejudice,  it  is  pretty  plain  that,  after  all, 
there  is  in  human  nature  a  deep-laid  predisposition  to  an  obstinate 
craze  of  this  nature.  Else  why  is  it  that,  in  evei-}-  age  alike,  men  have 
asserted  or  even  assumed  the  downward  tendency  of  the  human  race 
in  all  that  regards  moral  qualities.     For  the  physical  degeneration  of 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE,  109 

ana  experience,  which  uniformly  had  pointed  in  the  very 
opposite  direction  ;  and  so  far  it  ought  to  have  been  para- 
doxical, (that  is,  revolting  to  popular  opinion,)  but  was  not 
so  ;  for  it  fell  in  with  prevailing  opinions,  with  the  oldest, 
blindest,  and  most  inveterate  of  human  superstitions.  If 
extravagant,  yet  to  the  multitude  it  did  not  seem  extrava- 
gant. So  natural  a  craze,  therefore,  however  baseless, 
would  never  have  carried  Lord  Monboddo's  name  into  that 
meteoric  notoriety  and  atmosphere  of  astonishment  which 
soon  invested  it  in  England.  And,  in  that  case,  my  child- 
hood would  have  escaped  the  deadliest  blight  of  mortifica- 
tion and  despondency  that  could  have  been  incident  to  a 

man  there  really  were  some  apparent  (though  erroneous)  arguments; 
but,  for  the  moral  degeneration,  no  argument  at  all,  small  or  great. 
Yet  a  bigotry  of  belief  in  this  idle  notion  has  always  prevailed 
amongst  moralists,  pagan  alike  and  Christian.  Horace,  for  example, 
informs  us  that 

"  Aetas  parentum,  pojor  avis,  tulit 
Nos  nequiores  —  mox  daturos 
Progeniem  vitiosiorem." 
The  last  generation  was  worse,  it  seems,  than  the  penultimate,  as  the 
present  is  worst  than  the  last.  We,  however,  of  the  present,  bad  as 
we  may  be,  shall  be  kept  in  countenance  by  the  coming  generation, 
which  will  prove  much  worse  than  ourselves.  On  the  same  prece- 
dent, all  the  sermons  through  the  last  three  centuries,  if  traced  back 
through  decennial  periods,  so  as  to  form  thirty  successive  strata,  will 
be  found  regularly  claiming  the  precedency  in  wickedness  for  the 
immediate  period  of  the  writer.  Upon  which  theories,  as  men  ought 
physically  to  have  dwindled  long  ago  into  pygmies,  so,  on  the  other 
hand,  morally  they  must  by  this  time  have  left  Sodom  and  Go- 
morrah far  behind.  What  a  strange  animal  must  man  upon  this 
scheme  offer  to  our  contemplation  ;  shrinking  in  size,  by  graduated 
process,  through  every  century,  until  at  last  he  would  not  rise  an 
inch  from  the  ground ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  as  regards  villany, 
towering  evermore  and  more  up  to  the  heavens.  What  a  dwaif! 
what  a  giant !  Why,  the  very  crows  would  combine  to  destroy 
Bucb  a  liltlc  monster. 


110  AUTOBIOGRAPPIIC    SKETCHES. 

most  morbid  temperament  concurring  with  a  situation  of 
visionary  (yes  !  if  you  please,  of  fantastic)  but  still  of  most 
real  distress. 

How  much  it  would  have  astonished  Lord  Monboddo  to 
find  himself  made  answerable,  virtually  made  answerable, 
by  the  evidence  of  secret  tears,  for  the  misery  of  an  un- 
known child  in  Lancashire.  Yet  night  and  day  these 
silent  memorials  of  suffering  were  accusing  him  as  the 
founder  of  a  wound  that  could  not  be  healed.  It  happened 
that  the  several  volumes  of  his  work  lay  for  weeks  in  the 
study  of  our  tutor.  Chance  directed  the  eye  of  my  brother, 
one  day,  upon  that  part  of  the  work  in  which  Lord  M.  un- 
folds his  hypothesis  that  originally  the  human  race  had  been 
a  variety  of  the  ape.  On  which  hypothesis,  by  the  way, 
Dr.  Adam  Clarke's  substitution  of  ape  for  serpent,  in  trans- 
lating the  word  nachash,  (the  brute  tempter  of  Eve,)  would 
have  fallen  to  the  ground,  since  this  would  simply  have 
been  the  case  of  one  human  being  tempting  another.  It 
followed  inevitably,  according  to  Lord  M.,  however  painful 
it  might  be  to  human  dignity,  that  in  this,  their  early  stage 
of  brutality,  men  must  have  had  tails.  My  brother  mused 
upon  this  revery,  and,  in  a  few  days,  published  an  extract 
from  some  scoundrel's  travels  in  Gombroon,  according  to 
which  the  Gombroonians  had  not  yet  emerged  from  this 
early  condition  of  apedom.  They,  it  seems,  were  still 
homines  caudati.  Overwhelming  to  me  and  stunning  was 
the  ignominy  of  this  horrible  discovery.  Lord  M.  had  not 
overlooked  the  natural  question  —  In  what  way  did  men  get 
rid  of  their  tails  ?  To  speak  the  truth,  they  never  would 
have  got  rid  of  them  had  they  continued  to  run  wild  ;  but 
growing  civilization  introduced  arts,  and  the  arts  introduced 
sedentary  habits.  By  these  it  was,  by  the  mere  necessity 
of  continually  sitting  down,  that  men  gradually  w^ore  off 
their  tails.     Well,  and  what  should  hinder  the  Gombroon- 


INTRODUCTION     TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  Ill 

ians  from  sitting  down  ?  Their  tailors  and  shoemakers 
would  and  could,  I  hope',  sit  down,  as  well  as  those  of 
Tigrosylvania.  VVliy  not  ?  Ay,  but  my  brother  had  in- 
sisted already  that  they  hud  no  tailors,  that  they  had  no 
shoemakers  ;  which,  then^  I  did  not  care  much  about,  as  it 
merely  put  back  the  clock  of  our  history  —  throwing  us 
/nto  an  earlier,  and  therefore,  perhaps,  into  a  more  warlike 
stage  of  society.  But,  as  the  case  stood  now,  this  want  of 
tailors,  &c.,  showed  clearly  that  the  process  of  sitting  down, 
so  essential  to  the  ennobling  of  the  race,  had  not  com- 
menced. My  brother,  with  an  air  of  consolation,  sug- 
gested that  I  might  even  now,  without  an  hour's  delay, 
compel  the  whole  nation  to  sit  down  for  six  hours  a  day, 
which  would  always  "  make  a  beginning."  But  the  truth 
would  remain  as  before,  viz.,  that  I  was  the  king  of  a  peo- 
ple that  had  tails  ;  and  the  slow,  slow  process  by  which,  in 
a  course  of  many  centuries,  their  posterity  might  rub  them 
off,  —  a  hope  of  vintages  never  to  be  enjoyed  by  any  gene- 
rations that  are  yet  heaving  in  sight,  —  that  was  to  me  the 
worst  form  of  despair. 

Still  there  was  one  resource  :  if  I  "  didn't  like  it,"  mean- 
ing the  state  of  things  in  Gombroon,  I  might  "  abdicate." 
Yes,  I  knew  that.  I  might  abdicate  ;  and,  once  having  cut 
the  connection  between  myself  and  the  poor  abject  islanders, 
I  might  seem  to  have  no  further  interest  in  the  degrada- 
tion that  affected  them.  After  such  a  disruption  between 
us,  what  was  it  to  me  if  they  had  even  three  tails  apiece  .? 
Ah,  that  was  fine  talking  ;  but  this  connection  with  my 
poor  subjects  had  grown  up  so  slowly  and  so  genially,  in 
the  midst  of  struggles  so  constant  against  the  encroach- 
ments of  my  brother  and  his  rascally  people  ;  we  had  suf- 
fered so  much  together  ;  and  the  filaments  connecting  them 
whh  my  heart  were  so  aerially  fine  and  fantastic,  but  for 
that  reason  so  inseverable,  that  I  abated  nothing  of    my 


112  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

anxiety  on  their  account ;  making  this  difference  only  in 
my  legislation  and  administrative  cares,  that  I  pursued 
them  more  in  a  spirit  of  despondency,  and  retreated  more 
shyly  from  communicating  them.  It  was  in  vain  that  my 
brother  counselled  me  to  dress  my  people  in  the  Roman 
toga,  as  the  best  means  of  concealing  their  ignominious  ap- 
pendages :  if  he  meant  this  as  comfort,  it  was  none  to  me  ; 
the  disgrace  lay  in  the  fact,  not  in  its  publication ;  and  in 
my  heart,  though  I  continued  to  honor  Lord  Monboddo 
(whom  I  heard  my  guardian  also  daily  dehghting  to  honor) 
as  a  good  Grecian,  yet  secretly  I  cursed  the  Aoristus  Pri- 
mus, as  the  indirect  occasion  of  a  misery  which  was  not 
and  could  not  be  comprehended. 

From  this  deep  degradation  of  myself  and  my  people,  I 
was  drawn  off  at  intervals  to  contemplate  a  different  mode 
of  degradation  affecting  two  persons,  twin  sisters,  whom  I 
saw  intermittingly ;  sometimes  once  a  week,  sometimes 
frequently  on  each  separate  day.  You  have  heard,  reader, 
of  pariahs.  The  pathos  of  that  great  idea  possibly  never 
reached  you.  Did  it  ever  strike  you  how  far  that  idea  had 
extended  ?  Do  not  fancy  it  peculiar  to  Hindostan.  Be- 
fore Delhi  was,  before  Agra,  or  Lahore,  might  the  pariah 
say,  I  was.  The  most  interesting,  if  only  as  the  most  mys- 
terious, race  of  ancient  days,  the  Pelasgi,  that  overspread, 
in  early  times  of  Greece,  the  total  Mediterranean,  —  a  race 
distinguished  for  beauty  and  for  intellect,  and  sorrowful 
beyond  all  power  of  man  to  read  the  cause  that  could  lie 
deep  enough  for  so  imperishable  an  impression,  —  they 
were  pariahs.  The  Jews  that,  in  the  twenty-eighth  chap- 
ter of  Deuteronomy,  were  cursed  in  a  certain  contingency 
with  a  sublimer  curse  than  ever  rang  through  the  passion- 
ate wrath  of  prophecy,  and  that  afterwards,  in  Jerusalem, 
cursed  themselves,  voluntarily  taking  on  their  own  heads, 
and  on  the  heads  of  their  children''s  cliildren  forever  and 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  113 

ever,  the  guilt  of  innocent  blood,  —  they  are  pariahs  to  this 
liour.  Yet  fur  them  there  has  ever  shone  a  sullen  light  of 
hope.  The  gypsies,  for  whom  no  conscious  or  acknowl- 
edged hope  burns  through  the  mighty  darkness  that  sur- 
rounds them,  —  they  are  pariahs  of  pariahs.  Lepers  were 
a  race  of  mediaeval  pariahs,  rejected  of  men,  that  now  have 
gone  to  rest.  But  travel  into  the  forests  of  the  Pyrenees, 
and  there  you  will  find  their  modern  representatives  in  the 
Cagots.  Are  these  Pyrenean  Cagots  pagans  ?  Not  at  all. 
They  are  good  Christians.  Wherefore,  then,  that  low  door 
in  the  Pyrenean  churches,  through  which  the  Cagots  are 
forced  to  enter,  and  which,  obliging  them  to  stoop  almost 
to  the  ground,  is  a  perpetual  memento  of  their  degrada- 
tion? Wherefore  is  it  that  men  of  pure  Spanish  blood  will 
hold  no  intercourse  with  the  Cagot  ?  Wlierefore  is  it  that 
even  the  shadow  of  a  Cagot,  if  it  falls  across  a  fountain,  is 
held  to  have  polluted  that  fountain  ?  All  this  points  to 
some  dreadful  taint  of  guilt,  real  or  imputed,  in  ages  far 
remote.* 

But  in  ages  far  nearer  to  ourselves,  nay,  in  our  own 
generation  and  our  own   land,  are   many  pariahs,  sitting 

*  The  name  and  the  histoiy  of  the  Pyrenean  Cagots  are  equally 
obscure.  Some  have  supposed  that,  during  the  period  of  the  Gothic 
warfare  with  the  Moors,  the  Cagots  were  a  Christian  tribe  that  be- 
trayed the  Christian  cause  and  interests  at  a  critical  moment.  But 
all  is  conjecture.  As  to  the  name,  Sou  they  has  somewhere  offered  a 
p()ssil)lo  interpretation  of  it ;  but  it  struck  me  as  far  from  felicitous, 
and  not  wliat  might  have  been  expected  from  Southey,  whose  vast 
historical  research  and  commanding  talent  should  naturally  have  un- 
locked this  most  mysterious  of  modern  secrets,  if  any  unlocking  does 
yet  lie  within  the  resources  of  human  skill  and  combining  power, 
now  that  so  many  ages  divide  us  from  the  original  steps  of  the  case. 
I  may  here  mention,  as  a  fact  accidentally  made  known  to  myself, 
and  apparently  not  known  to  Southey,  that  the  Cagots,  under  a  name 
very  slightly  altered,  are  found  in  France  also,  as  well  as  Spain,  and 
in  provinces  of  France  that  have  no  connection  at  all  with  Spain. 


114  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

amongst  us  all,  nay,  oftentimes  sitting  (yet  not  recognized 
for  what  they  really  are)  at  good  men's  tables.  Flow 
general  is  that  sensuous  dulness,  that  deafness  of  the 
heart,  which  the  Scriptures  attribute  to  human  beings ! 
"  Having  ears,  they  hear  not ;  and,  seeing,  they  do  not 
understand."  In  the  very  act  of  facing  or  touching  a 
dreadful  object,  they  will  utterly  deny  its  existence.  Men 
say  to  me  daily,  when  I  ask  them,  in  passing,  "  Any  thing 
in  this  morning's  paper  ?  "  "  O,  no  ;  nothing  at  all."  And, 
as  I  never  had  any  other  answer,  I  am  bound  to  suppose 
that  there  never  was  any  thing  in  a  daily  newspaper ;  and, 
therefore,  that  the  horrible  burden  of  misery  and  of  change, 
which  a  centuiy  accumulates  as  [isfacit.  or  total  result,  has 
not  been  distributed  at  all  amongst  its  thirty-six  thousand 
five  hundred  and  twenty-five  days :  eveiy  day,  it  seems, 
was  separately  a  blank  day,  yielding  absolutely  nothing  — 
what  children  call  a  deaf  nut,  offering  no  kernel ;  and  yet 
the  total  product  has  caused  angels  to  weep  and  tremble. 
Meantime,  when  I  come  to  look  at  the  newspaper  with  my 
own  eyes,  I  am  astonished  at  the  misreport  of  my  inform- 
ants. Were  there  no  other  section  in  it  than  simply  that 
allotted  to  the  police  reports,  oftentimes  I  stand  aghast  at 
the  revelations  there  made  of  human  life  and  the  human 
heart ;  at  its  colossal  guilt,  and  its  colossal  misery ;  at 
the  suffering  which  oftentimes  throws  its  shadow  over 
palaces,  and  the  grandeur  of  mute  endurance  which 
sometimes  glorifies  a  cottage.  Here  transpires  the  dread- 
ful truth  of  what  is  going  on  forever  under  the  thick 
curtains  of  domestic  life,  close  behind  us,  and  before  us, 
and  all  around  us.  Newspapers  are  evanescent,  and  are 
too  rapidly  recurrent,  and  people  see  nothing  great  in  what 
is  familiar,  nor  can  ever  be  trained  to  read  the  silent  and 
the  shadowy  in  what,  for  the  moment,  is  covered  with  the 
babbling  garrulity  of   daylight.     T   suppose   now,  that,  in 


INTROlUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  115 

the  next  generation  after  that  wliich  is  here  concerned, 
had  any  neighbor  of  our  tutor  been  questioned  on  the  sub- 
ject of  a  domestic  tragedy,  which  travelled  through  its 
natural  stages  in  a  leisurely  way,  and  under  the  eyes  of 

good  Dr.  S ,  he  would   have  replied,  "  Tragedy !  O, 

sir,  nothing  of  the  kind !  You  have  been  misled ;  the 
gentleman  must  lie  under  a  mistake  :  perhaps  it  was  in 
the  next  street."  No,  it  was  not  in  the  next  street ;  and 
the  gentleman  does  not  lie  under  a  mistake,  or,  in  fact,  lie 
at  all.  The  simple  truth  is,  blind  old  neighbor,  that  you, 
being  rarely  in  the  house,  and,  when  there,  only  in  one 
particular  room,  saw  no  more  of  what  was  hourly  going 
on  than  if  you  had  been  residing  with  the  Sultan  of  Bok- 
hara. But  I,  a  child  between  seven  and  eight  years  old, 
had  access  every  where.  I  was  privileged,  and  had  the 
entree  even  of  the  female  apartments ;  one  consequence 
of  which  was,  that  I  put  this  and  that  together.  A  num- 
ber of  syllables,  that  each  for  itself  separately  might  have 
meant  nothing  at  all,  did  yet,  when  put  together,  through 
weeks  and  months,  read  for  my  eyes  into  sentences,  as 
deadly  and  significant  as  Tekel,  upharsin.  And  another 
consequence  was,  that,  being,  on  account  of  my  age, 
nobody  at  all,  or  very  near  it,  I  sometimes  witnessed 
things  that  perhaps  it  had  not  been  meant  for  any  body 
to  witness,  or  perhaps  some  half-conscious  negligence 
overlooked  my  presence.  "  Saw  things !  What  was  it 
now  ?  Was  it  a  man  at  midnight,  with  a  dark  lantern 
and  a  six-barrel  revolver.?  "  No,  that  was  not  in  the  least 
like  what  I  saw  :  it  was  a  great  deal  more  like  what  I  will 
endeavor  to  describe.  Imagine  two  young  girls,  of  what 
exact  age  I  really  do  not  know,  but  apparently  from  twelve 
to  fourteen,  twins,  remarkably  plain  in  person  and  features, 
unhealthy,  and  obscurely  reputed  to  be  idiots.  Whether 
they  really  were  such  was  more  than  I  knew,  or  could 


116  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

devise  any  plan  for  learning.  'V^ithout  dreaming  of  any 
thing  unkind  or  uncourteoiis,  my  original  impulse  had  been 
to  say,  "  If  you  please,  are  you  idiots  ?  "  But  I  felt  that 
such  a  question  had  an  air  of  coarseness  about  it,  though, 
for  my  own  part,  I  had  long  reconciled  myself  to  being 
called  an  idiot  by  my  brother.  There  was,  however,  a 
further  difficulty  :  breathed  as  a  gentle  murmuring  whisper, 
the  question  might  possibly  be  reconciled  to  an  indulgent 
ear  as  confidential  and  tender.  Even  to  take  a  liberty 
with  those  you  love  is  to  show  your  trust  in  their  affection  ; 
but,  alas  !  these  poor  girls  were  deaf;  and  to  have  shouted 
out,  "  Are  you  idiots,  if  you  please  .?  "  in  a  voice  that  would 
have  rung  down  three  flights  of  stairs,  promised  (as  I  felt, 
without  exactly  seeing  why)  a  dreadful  exaggeration  to 
whatever  incivility  might,  at  any  rate,  attach  to  the  ques- 
tion ;  and  some  did  attach,  that  was  clear,  even  if  warbled 
through  an  air  of  Cherubini's  and  accompanied  on  the 
flute.  Perhaps  they  were  not  idiots,  and  only  seemed  to 
be  such  from  the  slowness  of  apprehension  naturally  con- 
nected with  deafness.  That  1  saw  them  but  seldom,  arose 
from  their  peculiar  position  in  the  family.  Their  father 
had  no  private  fortune  ;  his  income  from  the  church  was 
very  slender  ;  and,  though  considerably  increased  by  the 
allowance  made  for  us,  his  two  pupils,  still,  in  a  great 
town,  and  with  so  large  a  famity,  it  left  him  little  room  for 
luxuries.  Consequently,  he  never  had  more  than  two  ser- 
vants, and  at  times  only  one.  Upon  this  plea  rose  the 
scheme  of  the  mother  for  employing  these  two  young  girls 
in  menial  offices  of  the  household  economy.  One  reason 
for  that  was,  that  she  thus  indulged  her  dislike  for  them, 
which  she  took  no  pains  to  conceal ;  and  thus,  also,  she 
withdrew  them  from  the  notice  of  strangers.  In  this  way, 
it  happened  that  I  saw  them  myself  but  at  uncertain  inter- 
vals.    Gradually,  however,  1  came   to  I  e  aware  of  their 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  117 

forlorn  condition,  to  pity  them,  and  to  love  them.  The 
poor  twins  were  undoubtedly  plain  to  the  degree  which  is 
called,  by  unfeeling  people,  ugliness.  They  were  also 
deaf,  as  I  have  said,  and  they  were  scrofulous  ;  one  of 
them  was  disfigured  by  the  small  pox ;  they  had  glimmer- 
ing eyes,  red,  like  the  eyes  of  ferrets,  and  scarcely  half 
open  ;  and  they  did  not  walk  so  much  as  stumble  along. 
There,  you  have  the  worst  of  them.  Now,  hear  something 
on  the  other  side.  What  first  won  my  pity  was,  their  af- 
fection for  each  other,  united  to  their  constant  sadness ; 
secondly,  a  notion  which  had  crept  into  my  head,  probably 
derived  from  something  said  in  my  presence  by  elder  peo- 
ple, that  they  were  destined  to  an  early  death  ;  and,  lastly, 
the  incessant  persecutions  of  their  mother.  This  lady  be- 
longed, by  birth,  to  a  more  elevated  rank  than  that  of  her 
husband,  and  she  was  remarkably  well  bred  as  regarded 
her  manners.  But  she  had  probably  a  weak  understand- 
ing ;  she  was  shrewish  in  her  temper ;  was  a  severe  econo- 
mist;  a  merciless  exactor  of  what  she  viewed  as  duty; 
and,  in  persecuting  her  two  unhappy  daughters,  though  she 
yielded  blindly  to  her  unconscious  dislike  of  them,  as  crea- 
tures that  disgraced  her,  she  was  not  aware,  perhaps,  of 
ever  having  put  forth  more  expressions  of  anger  and  sever- 
ity than  were  absolutely  required  to  rouse  the  constitutional 
torpor  of  her  daughters'  nature ;  and  where  disgust  has 
once  rooted  itself,  and  been  habitually  expressed  in  tones 
of  harshness,  the  mere  sight  of  the  hateful  object  mechani- 
cally calls  forth  the  eternal  tones  of  anger,  without  distinct 
consciousness  or  separate  intention  in  the  speaker.  Loud 
speaking,  besides,  or  even  shouting,  was  required  by  the 
deafness  of  the  two  girls.  From  anger  so  constantly  dis- 
charging its  thunders,  naturally  they  did  not  show  open 
signs  of  recoiling  ;  but  that  they  felt  it  deeply,  may  be  pre- 
sumed from  their  sensibility  to  kindness.     My  own  experi- 


118  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

ence  showed  that ;  for,  as  often  as  I  met  them,  we  ex- 
changed kisses ;  and  my  wish  had  always  been  to  beg 
them,  if  they  really  were  idiots,  not  to  mind  it,  since  I 
should  not  like  them  the  less  on  that  account.  This  wish 
of  mine  never  came  to  utterance ;  but  not  the  less  they 
were  aware,  by  my  manner  of  salutation,  that  one  person 
at  least,  amongst  those  who  might  be  considered  strangers, 
did  not  find  any  thing  repulsive  about  them  ;  and  the  pleas- 
ure they  felt  was  expressed  broadly  upon  their  kindling 
faces. 

Such  was  the  outline  of  their  position ;  and,  that  being 
explained,  what  I  saw  was  simply  this :  it  composed  a  si- 
lent and  symbolic  scene,  a  momentary  interlude  in  dumb 
show,  which  interpreted  itself,  and  settled  forever  in  my 
recollection,  as  if  it  had  prophesied  and  interpreted  the 
event  which  soon  followed.  They  were  resting  from  toil, 
and  both  sitting  down.  This  had  lasted  for  perhaps  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes.  Suddenly  from  below  stairs  the  voice  of 
angry  summons  rang  up  to  their  ears.  Both  rose,  in  an 
instant,  as  if  the  echoing  scourge  of  some  avenging  Tisiph- 
one  were  uplifted  above  their  heads ;  both  opened  their 
arms ;  flung  them  round  each  other's  necks ;  and  then,  un- 
clasping them,  parted  to  their  separate  labors.  This  was 
my  last  remcmberable  interview  with  the  two  sisters  ;  in  a 
week  both  were  corpses.  They  had  died,  I  believe,  of 
scarlatina,  and  very  nearly  at  the  same  moment. 

But  surely  it  was  no  matter  for  grief,  that  the  two  scrof- 
ulous idiots  were  dead  and  buried.  O,  no !  Call  them 
idiots  at  your  pleasure,  serfs  or  slaves,  strulbrugs  *  or  pa- 

*  "  Stndhrucjsr  —  Hardly  stritlhnigs,  will  be  the  thought  of  the  learn- 
ed reader,  who  knows  that  young  women  could  not  be  strulbrusrs ; 
since  the  true  strulbrug  was  one  who,  from  base  fear  of  dying,  had 
lingered  on  into  an  old  age,  omnivorous  of  every  genial  or  vital  im 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFK,  119 

riahs ;  their  case  was  certainly  not  worsened  by  being 
booked  for  places  in  the  grave.  Idiocy,  for  any  thing  I 
know,  may,  in  that  vast  kingdom,  enjoy  a  natural  prece- 
dency ;  scrofula  and  leprosy  may  have  some  mystic  privi- 
lege in  a  coffin ;  and  the  pariahs  of  the  upper  earth  may 
form  the  aristocracy  of  the  dead.  That  the  idiots,  real  or 
reputed,  were  at  I'est,  —  that  their  warfare  was  accomplish- 
ed,—  might,  if  a  man  happened  to  know  enough,  be  inter- 
preted as  a  glorious  festival.  The  sisters  were  seen  no  more 
upon  staircases  or  in  bed  rooms,  and  deadly  silence  had 
succeeded  to  the  sound  of  continual  uproars.  Memorials 
of  tlieni  were  none  surviving  on  earth.  Not  tlicy  it  was 
that  furnished  mementoes  of  themselves.  The  mother  it 
was,  the  father  it  was  —  that  mother  who  by  persecution 
had  avenged  the  wounds  oflered  to  her  pride ;  that  father, 

pulse.  The  strulbrug  of  Swift  (and  Swift,  being  his  horrid  creator, 
ought  to  understand  his  own  honid  creation)  was  a  wreck,  a  shell, 
that  had  been  burned  hollow,  and  cancered  by  the  fierce  furnace  of 
life.  His  clockwork  was  gone,  or  carious;  only  some  miserable  frag- 
ment of  a  pendulum  continued  to  oscillate  paralytically  from  mere  in- 
capacity of  any  thing  so  abrupt,  and  therefore  so  vigorous,  as  a  decid- 
ed Halt  !  However,  the  use  of  this  dreadful  word  may  be  reasona- 
bly extended  to  the  young  who  happen  to  have  become  essentially  old 
in  misery.  Intensity  of  a  suffering  existence  may  compensate  the 
want  of  extension  ;  and  a  boundless  depth  of  misery  may  be  a  trans- 
formed expression  for  a  boundless  duration  of  misery.  The  most 
aged  person,  to  all  appearance,  that  ever  came  under  my  eyes,  was 
an  infant  —  hardly  eight  months  old.  He  was  the  illegitimate  son 
of  a  poor  idiot  girl,  who  had  herself  been  shamefully  ill  treated  ;  and 
the  poor  infant,  falling  under  the  care  of  an  enraged  grandmother, 
who  felt  herself  at  once  burdened  and  disgraced,  was  certainly  not 
better  treated.  He  was  dying,  when  I  saw  him,  of  a  lingering  mala- 
dy, with  features  expressive  of  frantic  misery;  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  he  looked  at  tlie  least  three  centuries  old.  One  might  have  fan- 
cied him  one  of  Swift's  strulbrugs.  that,  through  long  attenuation  and 
decay,  had  dwindled  back  into  infancy,  with  one  organ  only  left  per- 
fect—  the  organ  of  fear  and  misery. 


120  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

who  had  tolerated  this  persecution ;  she  it  was,  he  it  was, 
that  by  the  altered  glances  of  her  haunted  eye,  that  by  the 
ahered  character  of  his  else  stationary  hubits,  had  revived 
for  me  a  spectacle,  once  real,  of  visionary  twin  sisters,  mov- 
ing forever  up  and  down  the  stairs  —  sisters,  patient,  hum- 
ble, silent,  that  snatched  convulsively  at  a  loving  smile,  or 
loving  gesture,  from  a  child,  as  at  some  message  of  remem- 
brance from  God,  whispering  to  them,  "  You  are  not  for- 
gotten"—  sisters  born  apparently  for  the  single  purpose 
of  suffering,  whose  trials,  it  is  true,  were  over,  and  could 
not  be  repeated,  but  (alas  for  her  who  had  been  their 
cause!)  could  not  be  recalled.  Her  face  grew  thin,  her 
eye  sunken  and  hollow,  after  the  death  of  her  daughters  ; 
and,  meeting  her  on  the  staircase,  I  sometimes  fancied  that 
she  did  not  see  me  so  much  as  something  beyond  me.  Did 
any  misfortune  befall  her  after  this  double  funeral  ?  Did 
the  Nemesis  that  wails  upon  the  sighs  of  children  pursue 
her  steps  .?  Not  apparently  :  externally,  things  went  well ; 
her  sons  were  reasonably  prosperous ;  her  handsome 
daughter  —  for  she  had  a  more  youthful  daughter,  who 
really  was  handsome  —  continued  to  improve  in  personal 
attractions ;  and  some  years  after,  I  have  heard,  she  mar- 
ried happily.  But  from  herself,  so  long  as  I  continued  to 
know  her,  the  altered  character  of  countenance  did  not  de- 
part, nor  the  gloomy  eye,  that  seemed  to  converse  with  se- 
cret and  visionary  objects. 

This  result  from  the  irrevocable  past  was  not  altogether 
confined  to  herself.  It  is  one  evil  attached  to  chronic  and 
domestic  oppression,  that  it  draws  into  its  vortex,  as  un- 
willing, or  even  as  loathing,  cooperators,  others  who 
either  see  but  partially  the  wrong  they  are  abetting,  or, 
in  cases  where  they  do  see  it,  are  unable  to  make  head 
against  it,  through  the  inertia  of  their  own  nature,  or 
through  the  coercion  of  circumstances.     Too  clearly,  by 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  121 

the  restless  irritation  of  his  manner  for  some  time  after  the 
children's  death,  their  father  testified,  in  a  language  not 
fully,  perhaps,  perceived  by  himself,  or  meant  to  be  under- 
stood by  others,  that  to  his  inner  conscience  he  also  was  not 
clear  of  blame.  Had  he,  then,  in  any  degree  sanctioned 
the  injustice  which  sometimes  he  must  have  witnessed  .'' 
Far  from  it ;  he  had  been  roused  from  his  habitual  indo- 
lence into  energetic  expressions  of  anger ;  he  had  put  an 
end  to  the  wrong,  whco  it  came  openly  before  him.  I  had 
myself  heard  him  say  on  many  occasions,  with  patriarchal 
fervor,  "  Woman,  they  are  your  children,  and  God  made 
them.  Show  mercy  to  them,  as  you  expect  it  for  yourself." 
But  he  must  have  been  aware,  that,  for  any  three  instances 
of  tyrannical  usage  that  fell  under  his  notice,  at  least  five 
hundred  would  escape  it.  That  was  the  sting  of  the 
case  —  that  was  its  poisonous  aggravation.  But  with  a 
nature  that  sought  for  peace  before  all  things,  in  this  very 
worst  of  its  aggravations  was  found  a  morbid  cure  —  the 
effectual  temptation  to  wilful  blindness  and  forgetfulness. 
The  sting  became  the  palliation  of  the  wrong,  and  the 
poison  became  its  anodyne.  For  together  with  the  five 
hundred  hidden  wrongs,  arose  the  necessity  that  they  must 
be  hidden.  Could  he  be  pinned  on,  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  to  his  wife's  apron  ?  And  if  not,  what  else  should 
he  do  by  angry  interferences  at  chance  times  than  add 
special  vindictive  impulses  to  those  of  general  irritation 
and  dislike  ?  Some  truth  there  was  in  this,  it  cannot  be 
denied  :  innumerable  cases  arise,  in  which  a  man  the  most 
just  is  obliged,  in  some  imperfect  sense,  to  connive  at  in- 
justice ;  his  chance  experience  must  convince  him  that 
injustice  is  continually  going  on  ;  and  yet,  in  any  attempt 
to  intercept  it  or  to  check  it,  he  is  met  and  baffled  by  the 
insuperable  obstacles  of  household  necessities.  Dr.  S. 
therefore  surrendered   himself,  as   under  a   coercion  that 


122  AUTOBIOGKAFHIC    SKETCHES. 

was  notiC  of  his  creating,  to  a  passive  acquiescence  and  8 
blindness  that  soothed  his  constitutional  indolence  ;  and  he 
reconciled  his  feelings  to  a  tyranny  which  he  tolerated, 
under  some  self-flattering  idea  of  submitting  with  resigna- 
tion to  a  calamity  that  he  suffered. 

Some  years  after  this,  I  read  the  "  Agamemnon "  of 
^schylus  ;  and  then,  in  the  prophetic  horror  with  which 
Cassandra  surveys  the  regal  abode  in  Mycenae,  destined 
to  be  the  scene  of  murders  so  memorable  through  the  long 
traditions  of  the  Grecian  stage,  murders  that,  many  cen- 
turies after  all  the  parties  to  them  —  perpetrators,  suffer- 
ers, avengers  —  had  become  dust  and  ashes,  kindled  again 
into  mighty  life  through  a  thousand  years  upon  the  vast 
theatres  of  Athens  and  Rome,  I  retraced  the  horrors,  not 
prophetic  but  memorial,  with  which  I  myself  had  invested 
that  humble  dwelling  of  Dr.  S. ;  and  read  again,  repeated 
in  visionary  proportions,  the  sufferings  which  there  had 
darkened  the  days  of  people  known  to  myself  through  two 
distinct  successions  —  not,  as  was  natural  to  expect,  of 
parents  first  and  then  of  children,  but  inversely  of  chil- 
dren and  parents.  Manchester  was  not  Mycenae.  No, 
but  by  many  degrees  nobler.  In  some  of  the  features 
most  favorable  to  tragic  effects,  it  was  so  ;  and  wanted 
only  those  idealizing  advantages  for  withdrawing  mean 
details  which  are  in  the  gift  of  distance  and  hazy  antiquity. 
Even  at  that  day  Manchester  was  far  larger,  teeming  with 
more  and  with  stronger  hearts  ;  and  it  contained  a  popula- 
tion the  most  energetic  even  in  the  modern  world  —  how 
much  more  so,  therefore,  by  comparison  with  any  race  in 
ancient  Greece,  inevitably  rendered  effeminate  by  depend- 
ence too  generally  upon  slaves.  Add  to  this  superior 
energy  in  Lancashire,  the  immeasurably  profounder  feel- 
ings generated  by  the  mysteries  which  stand  behind  Chris- 
tianity, as  compared  with  the  shallow  mysteries  that  stood 


INTRODUCriON    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  123 

behind  paganism,  and  it  would  be  easy  to  draw  the  in- 
ference, that,  in  the  capacity  for  the  infinite  and  the  im- 
passioned, for  horror  and  for  patlios,  Mycenae  could  have 
liad  no  pretensions  to  measure  herself  against  Manchester. 
Not  that  I  had  drawn  such  an  inference  myself.  Why 
should  I  ?  there  being  nothing  to  suggest  the  points  in 
which  the  two  cities  differed,  but  only  the  single  one  in 
which  they  agreed,  viz.,  the  dusky  veil  that  overshadowed 
in  both  the  noonday  tragedies  haunting  their  household 
recesses  ;  which  veil  was  raised  only  to  the  gifted  eyes  of 
a  Cassandra,  or  to  eyes  that,  like  my  own,  had  experi- 
mentally become  acquainted  with  them  as  facts.  Pitiably 
mean  is  he  that  measures  the  relations  of  such  cases  by 
the  scenical  apparatus  of  purple  and  gold.  That  which 
never  has  been  apparelled  in  royal  robes,  and  hung  with 
theatrical  jewels,  is  but  suffering  from  an  accidental  fraud, 
having  the  same  right  to  them  that  any  similar  misery  can 
have,  or  calamity  upon  an  equal  scale.  These  proportions 
are  best  measured  from  the  fathoming  ground  of  a  real 
uncounterfeit  sympathy. 

I  have  mentioned  already  that  we  had  four  male  guar- 
dians, (a  fifth  being  my  mother.)  These  four  were  B.,  E., 
G.,  and  H.  The  two  consonants,  B.  and  G.,  gave  us  little 
trouble.  G.,  the  wisest  of  the  whole  band,  lived  at  a  dis- 
tance of  more  than  one  hundred  miles :  him,  therefore,  we 
rarely  saw  ;  but  B.,  living  within  four  miles  of  Grecnhay, 
washed  his  hands  of  us  by  inviting  us,  eveiy  now  and  then, 
to  spend  a  few  days  at  his  house. 

At  this  house,  which  stood  in  the  country,  there  was  a 
family  of  amiable  children,  who  were  more  skilfully  trained 
in  their  musical  studies  than  at  that  day  was  usual.  They 
sang  the  old  English  glees  and  madrigals,  and  correctly 
enough  for  me,  who,  having,  even  at  that  childish  age,  a 
preternatural  sensibility  to   music,   had   also,  as  may  be 


124  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

supposed,  the  most  entire  want  of  musical  knowledge.  No 
blunders  could  do  much  to  mar  my  pleasure.  There  first 
I  heard  the  concertos  of  Corelli ;  but  also,  which  far  more 
profoundly  affected  me,  a  few  selections  from  Jomelli  and 
Cimarosa.  With  Handel  I  had  long  been  familiar,  for  the 
fames  chorus  singers  of  Lancashire  sang  continually  at 
churches  the  most  effective  parts  from  his  chief  oratorios. 
Mozart  was  yet  to  come  ;  for,  except  perhaps  at  the  opera 
in  London,  even  at  this  time,  his  music  was  most  imper- 
fectly diffused  through  England.  But,  above  all,  a  thing 
which  to  my  dying  day  I  could  never  forget,  at  the  house 
of  this  guardian  I  heard  sung  a  long  canon  of  Cherubini's. 
Forty  years  later  I  heard  it  again,  and  better  sung  ;  but  at 
that  time  I  needed  nothing  better.  It  was  sung  by  four 
male  voices,  and  rose  into  a  region  of  thrilling  passion, 
such  as  my  heart  had  always  dimly  craved  and  hungered 
after,  but  which  now  first  interpreted  itself,  as  a  physical 
possibility,  to  my  ear. 

My  brother  did  not  share  my  inexpressible  delight ;  his 
taste  ran  in  a  different  channel ;  and  the  arrangements  of 
the  house  did  not  meet  his  approbation  ;  particularly  this, 
that  either  Mrs.  B.  herself,  or  else  the  governess,  was 
always  present  when  the  young  ladies  joined  our  society, 
which  my  brother  considered  particularly  vulgar,  since 
natural  propriety  and  decorum  should  have  whispered  to 
an  old  lady  that  a  young  gentleman  might  have  "  things" 
to  say  to  her  daughters  which  he  could  not  possibly  intend 
for  the  general  ear  of  eavesdroppers  —  things  tending  to 
the  confidential  or  the  sentimental,  which  none  but  a  shame- 
less old  lady  would  seek  to  participate  ;  by  that  means 
compelling  a  young  man  to  talk  as  loud  as  if  he  were 
addressing  a  mob  at  Charing  Cross,  or  reading  the  Riot 
Act.  There  were  other  out-of-door  amusements,  amongst 
which  a  swing  —  which  I  mention  for  the  sake  of  illustrat- 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WOHLD    OF    STltlFE.  125 

.ng  tho  passive  obedience  which  my  brother  levied  upon 
me,  either  through  my  conscience,  as  mastered  by  his  doc- 
trine of  primogeniture,  or,  as  in  this  case,  through  my  sen- 
sibility to  shame  under  his  taunts  of  cowardice.  It  was  a 
most  ambitious  swings  ascending  to  a  height  beyond  any 
that  I  have  since  seen  in  fairs  or  public  gardens.  Horror 
was  at  my  heart  regularly  as  the  swing  reached  its  most 
aerial  altitude  ;  for  the  oily,  swallow-like  fluency  of  the 
swoop  downwards  threatened  always  to  make  me  sick,  in 
which  it  is  probable  that  I  must  have  relaxed  my  hold  of 
the  ropes,  and  have  been  projected,  with,  fatal  violence,  to 
the  ground.  But,  in  defiance  of  all  this  miserable  panic,  I 
continued  to  swing  whenever  he  tauntingly  invited  me.  It 
was  well  that  my  brother's  path  in  life  soon  ceased  to  coin- 
cide with  my  own,  else  I  should  infallibly  have  broken  my 
neck  in  confronting  perils  which  brought  me  neither  honor 
nor  profit,  and  in  accepting  defiances  which,  issue  how  they 
might,  won  self-reproach  from  myself,  and  sometimes  a 
gayety  of  derision  from  him.  One  only  of  these  defiances 
I  declined.  There  was  a  horse  of  this  same  guardian  B.'s, 
who  always,  after  listening  to  Cherubini's  music,  grew 
irritable  to  excess  ;  and,  if  any  body  mounted  him,  would 
seek  relief  to  his  wounded  feelings  in  kicking,  more  or  less 
violently,  for  an  hour.  This  habit  endeared  him  to  my 
brother,  who  acknowledged  to  a  propensity  of  the  same 
amiable  kind  ;  protesting  that  an  abstract  desire  of  kicking 
seized  him  always  after  hearing  good  performers  on  par- 
ticular instruments,  especially  the  bagpipes.  Of  kicking  ? 
But  of  kicking  what  or  lohom  7  I  fear  of  kicking  the  ven- 
erable public  collectively,  creditors  without  exception,  but 
also  as  many  of  the  debtors  as  might  be  found  at  large ; 
doctors  of  medicine  more  especially,  but  with  no  absolute 
immunity  for  the  majority  of  their  patients  ;  Jacobins,  but 
not  the  less  anti-Jacobins  ;  every  Calvinist,  which  seems 


126 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 


reasonable  ;  but  tben  also,  which  is  intolerable,  every 
Arminian.  Is  philosophy  able  to  account  for  this  morbid 
affection,  and  particularly  when  it  takes  the  restricted  form 
(as  sometimes  it  does,  in  the  bagpipe  case)  of  seeking  furi- 
ously to  kick  the  piper,  instead  of  paying  him  ?  In  this 
case,  my  brother  was  urgent  with  me  to  mount  en  croupe 
behind  himself.  But  weak  as  I  usually  was,  this  proposal 
I  resisted  as  an  immediate  suggestion  of  the  fiend ;  for  I 
had  heard,  and  have  since  known  proofs  of  it,  that  a  horse, 
when  he  is  ingeniously  vicious,  sometimes  has  the  power, 
in  lashing  out,  of  curving  round  his  hoofs,  so  as  to  lodge 
them,  by  way  of  indorsement,  in  the  small  of  his  rider's 
back  ;  and,  of  course,  he  would  have  an  advantage  for  such 
a  purpose,  in  the  case  of  a  rider  sitting  on  the  crupper. 
That  sole  invitation  I  persisted  in  declining. 

A  young  gentleman  had  joined  us  as  a  fellow-student 
under  the  care  of  our  tutor.  He  was  an  only  son  ;  indeed, 
the  only  child  of  an  amiable  widow,  whose  love  and  hopes 
all  centred  in  him.  He  was  destined  to  inherit  several 
separate  estates,  and  a  great  deal  had  been  done  to  spoil 
him  by  indulgent  aunts;  but  his  good  natural  disposition 
defeated  all  these  efforts  ;  and,  upon  joining  us,  he  proved 
to  be  a  very  amiable  boy,  clever,  quick  at  learning,  and 
abundantly  courageous.  In  the  summer  months,  his  mother 
usually  took  a  house  out  in  the  country,  sometimes  on  one 
side  of  Manchester,  sometimes  on  another.  At  these  rus- 
ticating seasons,  he  had  often  macn  farther  to  come  than 
ourselves,  and  on  that  account  he  rode  on  horseback. 
Generally  it  was  a  fierce  mountain  pony  that  he  rode  ;  and 
it  was  worth  while  to  cultivate  the  pony's  acquintance,  for 
the  sake  of  understanding  the  extent  to  which  the  fiend  can 
sometimes  incarnate  himself  in  a  horse.  I  do  not  trouble 
the  reader  with  any  account  of  his  tricks,  and  drolleries, 
and  scoundrelisms  ;  but  this  I  may  mention,  that  he  had  the 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THK    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  127 

propensity  ascribed  many  centuries  ago  to  the  Scandinavian 
horses  for  sharing  and  practically  asserting  his  share  in  the 
angry  passions  of  a  battle.  He  would  fight,  or  attempt  to 
fight,  on  his  rider's  side,  by  biting,  rearing,  and  suddenly 
wheeling  round,  for  the  purpose  of  lashing  out  when  he 
found  himself  within  kicking  range.*  This  little  monster 
was  coal  black  ;  and,  in  virtue  of  his  carcass,  would  not  have 
seemed  very  formidable  ;  but  his  head  made  amends  —  it 
was  the  head  of  a  buffalo,  or  of  a  bison,  and  his  vast  jungle 
of  mane  was  the  mane  of  a  lion.  His  eyes,  by  reason  of 
this  intolerable  and  unshorn  mane,  one  did  not  often  see, 
except  as  lights  that  sparkled  in  the  rear  of  a  thicket ;  but, 
once  seen,  they  were  not  easily  forgotten,  for  their  malig- 
nity was  diabolic.  A  few  miles  more  or  less  being  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  one  who  was  so  well  mounted,  O.  would 
sometimes  ride  out  with  us  to  the  field  of  battle  ;  and,  by 
manoeuvring  so  as  to  menace  the  enemy  on  the  flanks,  in 
skirmishes  he  did  good  service.  But  at  length  came  a  day 
of  pitched  battle.  The  enemy  had  mustered  in  unusual 
strength,  and  would  certainly  have  accomplished  the  usual 
result  of  putting  us  to  flight  with  more  than  usual  ease, 
but,  under  the  turn  which  things  took,  their  very  numbers 
aided  their  overthrow,  by  deepening  their  confusion.  O. 
had,  on  this  occasion,  accompanied  us;  and,  as  he  had 
hitherto  taken  no  very  decisive  part  in  the  war,  confining 
himself  to  distant  "demonstrations,"  the  enemy  did  not 
much  regard  his  presence  in  the  field.  This  carelessness 
threw  them  into  a  dense  mass,  upon  which  my  brother's 
rapid  eye  saw  instantly  the  opportunity  offered  for  operat- 
ing  most  effectually  by  a  charge.     O.  saw  it  too  ;  and, 


*  This  was  a  manoeuvre  regularly  taught  to  the  Austrian  cavah-y 
in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  as  a  ready  way  of  opening  the  dooi's 
of  sottages. 


128  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

happening  to  have  his  spurs  on,  he  complied  cheerfully 
whh  my  brother's  suggestion.  He  had  the  advantage  of  a 
slight  descent :  the  wicked  pony  went  down  "  with  a  will  ;  " 
his  echoing  hoofs  drew  the  general  gaze  upon  him  ;  his 
head,  his  leonine  mane,  his  diabolic  eyes,  did  the  rest ;  and 
in  a  moment  the  whole  hostile  array  had  broken,  and  was 
in  rapid  flight  across  the  brick  fields.  I  leave  the  reader 
to  judge  whether  "  Te  Deum  "  would  be  sung  on  that  night. 
A  Gazette  Extraordinary  was  issued  ;  and  my  brother  had 
really  some  reason  for  his  assertion,  "  that  in  conscience 
he  could  not  think  of  comparing  Cannse  to  this  smashing 
defeat ; "  since  at  Cannse  many  brave  men  had  refused  to 
fly  —  the  consul  himself,  Terentius  Varro,  amongst  them  ; 
but,  in  the  present  rout,  there  was  no  Terentius  Varro  — 
every  body  fled. 

The  victory,  indeed,  considered  in  itself,  was  complete. 
But  it  had  consequences  which  we  had  not  looked  for.  In 
the  ardor  of  our  conflict,  neither  my  brother  nor  myself 
had  remarked  a  stout,  square-built  man,  mounted  on  an  un- 
easy horse,  who  sat  quietly  in  his  saddle  as  spectator  of 
the  battle,  and,  in  fact,  as  the  sole  non-combatant  present. 
This  man,  however,  had  been  observed  by  O.,  both  before 
and  after  his  own  brilliant  charge  ;  and,  by  the  description, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  it  had  been  our  guardian  B., 
as  also,  by  the  description  of  the  horse,  we  could  as  little 
doubt  that  he  had  been  mounted  on  Cherubini.  My 
brother's  commentary  was  in  a  tone  of  bitter  complaint, 
that  so  noble  an  opportunity  should  have  been  lost  for 
strengthening  O.'s  charge.  But  the  consequences  of  this 
incident  were  graver  than  we  anticipated.  A  general 
board  of  our  guardians,  vowels  and  consonants,  was  sum- 
moned to  investigate  the  matter.  The  origin  of  the  feud, 
or  "  war,"  as  my  brother  called  it,  was  inquired  into.  As 
well  might  the  war  of  Troy  or  the  purser's  accounts  from 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  129 

the  Argonautic  expedition  have  been  overhauled.  Ancient 
night  and  clmos  had  closed  over  the  "  incunabula  belli ;  " 
and  that  point  was  given  up  in  despair.  But  what  hindered 
a  general  pacification,  no  matter  in  how  many  wrongs 
the  original  dispute  had  arisen  >  Who  stopped  the  way 
which  led  to  peace  ?  Not  we,  was  our  firm  declaration  ; 
we  were  most  pacifically  inclined,  and  ever  had  been ; 
we  were,  m  fact,  little  saints.  But  the  enemy  could  not 
be  brought  to  any  terms  of  accommodation.  "  That  we 
will  try,"  said  the  vowel  amongst  our  guardians,  Mr.  E. 
He,  being  a  magistrate,  had  naturally  some  weight  with  the 
proprietors  of  the  cotton  factory.  The  foremen  of  the 
several  floors  were  summoned,  and  gave  it  as  their  humble 
opinion  that  we,  the  aristocratic  party  in  the  war,  were  as 
bad  as  the  sans  culottes — "not  a  pin  to  choose  between  us." 
Well,  but  no  matter  for  the  past :  could  any  plan  be  devised 
for  a  pacific  future  .?  Not  easily.  The  workpeople  were  so 
thoroughly  independent  of  their  employers,  and  so  care- 
less of  their  displeasure,  that  finally  this  only  settlement 
was  available  as  wearing  any  promise  of  permanence,  viz., 
that  we  should  aUer  our  hours,  so  as  not  to  come  into  col- 
lision with  the  exits  or  returns  of  the  boys. 

Under  this  arrangement,  a  sort  of  hollow  armistice  pre- 
vailed for  some  time  ;  but  it  was  beginning  to  give  way, 
when  suddenly  an  internal  change  in  our  own  home  put  an 
end  to  the  war  forever.  My  brother,  amongst  his  many 
accomplishments,  was  distinguished  for  his  skill  in  drawing. 
Some  of  his  sketches  had  been  shown  to  Mr.  De  Louther- 
bourg,  an  academician  well  known  in  those  days,  esteemed 
even  in  these  days,  after  he  has  been  dead  for  forty  or  fifty 
years,  and  personally  a  distinguished  favorite  with  the  king, 
(George  III.)  He  pronounced  a  very  flattering  opinion 
upon  my  bi'other's  promise  of  excellence.  This  being 
known,  a  fee  of  a  thousand  guineas  was  ofiercd  to  Mr.  L. 
9 


130  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

by  the  guardians ;  and  finally  that  gentleman  took  charge 
of  my  brother  as  a  pupil.  Now,  therefore,  my  brother, 
King  of  Tigrosylvania,  scourge  of  Gombroon,  separated 
from  me ;  and,  as  it  turned  out,  forever.  I  never  saw  him 
again ;  and,  at  Mr.  De  L.'s  house  in  Hammersmith,  before 
he  had  completed  his  sixteenth  year,  he  died  of  typhus 
fever.  And  thus  it  happened  that  a  little  gold  dust  skil- 
fully applied  put  an  end  to  wars  that  else  threatened  to  ex- 
tend into  a  Carthaginian  length.     In  one  week's  time 

"  Hi  motus  aiiimorum  atque  haec  certamina  tanta 
Pulvcris  exigui  jactu  compressa  quifiruiit." 

Here  I  had  terminated  this  chapter,  as  at  a  natural 
pause,  which,  whilst  shutting  out  forever  my  eldest  brother 
from  the  reader's  sight  and  from  my  own,  necessarily  at 
the  same  moment  worked  a  permanent  revolution  in  the 
character  of  my  daily  life.  Two  such  changes,  and  both 
so  abrupt,  indicated  imperiously  the  close  of  one  era  and 
the  opening  of  another.  The  advantages,  indeed,  which 
my  brother  had  over  me  in  years,  in  physical  activities  of 
every  kind,  in  decision  of  purpose,  and  in  energy  of  will, — 
all  which  advantages,  besides,  borrowed  a  ratification  from 
an  obscure  sense,  on  my  part,  of  duty  as  incident  to  what 
seemed  an  appointment  of  Providence,  —  inevitably  had. 
controlled,  and  for  years  to-  come  would  have  controlled, 
the  free  spontaneous  movements  of  a  contemplative  dreamer 
like  myself.  Consequently,  this  separation,  which  proved 
an  eternal  one,  and  contributed  to  deepen  my  constitutional 
propensity  to  gloomy  meditation,  had  for  me  (partly  on 
that  account,  but  much  more  through  the  sudden  birth  of 
perfect  independence  which  so  unexpectedly  it  opened)  the 
value  of  a  revolutionary  experience.  .A  new  date,  a  new 
starting  piint,  a  redemption  (as  it  might  be  called)  into  th« 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  131 

golden  sleep  of  halcyon  quiet,  after  everlasting  storms, 
suddenly  dawned  upon  me ;  and  not  as  any  casual  inter- 
calation of  holidays  that  would  come  to  an  end,  but,  for 
any  thing  that  appeared  to  the  contrary,  as  the  perpetual 
tenor  of  my  future  career.  No  longer  was  the  factory  a 
Carthage  for  me  :  if  any  obdurate  old  Cato  there  were  who 
found  his  amusement  in  denouncing  it  with  a  daily  ''^Delcnda 
est,''''  take  notice,  (I  said  silently  to  myself,)  that  I  acknowl- 
edge no  such  tiger  for  a  friend  of  mine.  Nevermore  was 
the  bridge  across  the  Irwell  a  bridge  of  sighs  for  me.  And 
the  meanest  of  the  factory  population  —  thanks  be  to  their 
discrimination  —  despised  my  pretensions  too  entirely  to 
waste  a  thought  or  a  menace  upon  a  cipher  so  abject. 

This  change,  therefore,  being  so  sudden  and  so  total, 
ought  to  signalize  itself  externally  by  a  commensurate 
break  in  the^  narrative.  A  new  chapter,  at  the  least,  with 
a  hugh  interspace  of  blank  white  paper,  or  even  a  new 
book,  ought  rightfully  to  solemnize  so  profound  a  revolu- 
tion. And  virtually  it  shall.  But,  according  to  the  general 
agreement  of  antiquity,  it  is  not  felt  as  at  all  disturbing  to 
the  unity  of  that  event  which  winds  up  the  "  Iliad,"  viz., 
the  death  of  Hector,  that  Homer  expands  it  circumstan- 
tially into  the  whole  ceremonial  of  his  funeral  obsequies ; 
and  upon  that  same  principle  I  —  when  looking  back  to  this 
abrupt  close  of  all  connection  with  my  brother,  whether 
in  my  character  of  major  general  or  of  potentate  trem- 
bling daily  for  my  people —  am  reminded  that  the  very  last 
morning  of  this  connection  had  its  own  separate  distinction 
from  all  other  mornings,  in  a  way  that  entitles  it  to  its  own 
separate  share  in  the  general  commemoration.  A  shadow 
fell  upon  this  particular  morning  as  from  a  cloud  of  danger, 
that  lingered  for  a  moment  over  our  heads,  might  seem 
even  to  muse  and  hesitate,  and  then  sullenly  passed  away 
into  distant  quarters.     It  is  noticeable  that  a  danger  which 


132  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

approaches,  but  wheels  away,  —  which  threatens,  but  finally 
forbears  to  strike, —  is  more  interesting  by  much  on  a  dis- 
tant retrospect  than  the  danger  which  accomplishes  its 
mission.  The  Alpine  precipice,  down  which  many  pil- 
grims have  fallen,  is  passed  without  much  attention  ;  but 
that  precipice,  within  one  inch  of  which  a  traveller  has 
passed  unconsciously  in  the  dark,  first  tracing  his  peril 
along  the  snowy  margin  on  the  next  morning,  becomes 
invested  with  an  attraction  of  horror  for  all  who  hear  the 
story.  The  dignity  of  mortal  danger  ever  after  consecrates 
the  spot ;  and,  in  this  particular  case  which  I  am  now 
recalling,  the  remembrance  of  such  a  danger  consecrates 
the  day. 

That  day  was  amongst  the  most  splendid  in  a  splendid 
June  :  it  was  —  to  borrow  the  line  of  Wordsworth  — 

"  One  of  those  heavenly  days  which  cannot  die  ;  " 

and,  early  as  it  was  at  that  moment,  we  children,  all  six 
of  us  that  then  survived,  were  already  abroad  upon  the 
lawn.  There  were  two  lawns  at  Greenhay  in  the  shrub- 
bery that  invested  three  sides  of  the  house  :  one  of  these, 
which  ran  along  one  side  of  the  house,  extended  to  a  little 
bridge  traversed  by  the  gates  of  entrance.  The  central 
gate  admitted  carriages  :  on  each  side  of  this  was  a  smaller 
gate  for  foot  passengers  ;  and,  in  a  family  containing  so 
many  as  six  children,  it  may  be  supposed  that  often  enough 
one  or  other  of  the  gates  was  open  ;  which,  most  fortunate- 
ly, on  this  day  was  not  the  case.  Along  the  margin  of 
this  side  lawn  ran  a  little  brook,  which  had  been  raised  to  a 
uniform  level,  and  kept  up  by  means  of  a  wear  at  the  point 
where  it  quitted  the  premises  ;  after  which  it  resumed  its 
natural  character  of  wildness,  as  it  trotted  on  to  the  little 
hamlet  of  Greenhill.  This  brook  my  brother  was  at  one 
time  disposed  to  treat  as  Remus  treated  the  infant  walls  of 


INTRODUCTION     TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  133 

Rome  ;  but,  on  maturer  thoughts,  having  built  a  fleet  of 
rafts,  he  treated  it  more  respectfully  ;  and  this  morning,  as 
will  be  seen,  the  breadth  of  the  little  brook  did  us  "  yeo- 
man's service."  Me  at  one  time  he  had  meant  to  put  on 
board  this  fleet,  as  his  man  Friday  ;  and  I  had  a  fair  pros- 
pect of  first  entering  life  in  the  respectable  character  of  su- 
percargo. But  it  happened  that  the  current  carried  his 
rafts  and  himself  over  the  wear;  which,  he  assured  us,  was 
no  accident,  but  a  lesson  by  way  of  practice  in  the  art  of 
contending  with  the  rapids  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  other 
Canadian  streams.  However,  as  the  danger  had  been  con- 
siderable, he  was  prohibited  from  trying  such  experiments 
with  me.  On  the  centre  of  the  lawn  stood  my  eldest  sur- 
viving sister,  Mary,  and  my  brother  William.  Round  /«'?/?, 
attracted  (as  ever)  by  his  inexhaustible  opulence  of  thought 
and  fun,  stood,  laughing  and  dancing,  my  youngest  sister, 
a  second  Jane,  and  my  youngest  brother  Henry,  a  posthu- 
mous child,  feeble,  and  in  his  nurse's  arms,  but  on  this 
morning  showing  signs  of  unusual  animation  and  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  glorious  promise  of  the  young  June  day. 
Whirling  round  on  his  heel,  at  a  little  distance,  and  utterly 
abstracted  from  all  around  him,  my  next  brother,  Richard, 
he  that  had  caused  so  much  affliction  by  his  incorrigible 
morals  to  the  Sultan  Amurath,  pursued  his  own  solitary 
thoughts  —  whatever  those  might  be.  And,  finally,  as  re- 
gards myself,  it  happened  that  I  was  standing  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  brook,  looking  back  at  intervals  to  the  group 
of  five  children  and  two  nurse  maids  who  occupied  the 
centre  of  the  lawn ;  time,  about  an  hour  before  our  break- 
fast, or  about  two  hours  before  the  world's  breakfast,  —  i.  e., 
a  little  after  seven,  —  when  as  yet  in  shady  pai'ts  of  the 
grounds  the  dazzling  jewelry  of  the  early  dews  had  not  en- 
tirely exhaled.  So  standing,  and  so  occupied,  suddenly  we 
were  alarmed   by  shuuts  as  uf  sume   greal  mob  manifestly 


134  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

in  rapid  motion,  and  probably,  at  this  instant,  taking  the 
right-angled  turn  into  the  lane  connecting  Greenhay  with 
the  Oxford  Road.  The  shouts  indicated  hostile  and  head- 
long pursuit :  within  one  minute  another  right-angled  turn 
in  the  lane  itself  brought  the  uproar  fully  upon  the  ear; 
and  it  became  evident  that  some  imminent  danger  —  of 
Avhat  nature  it  was  impossible  to  guess  —  must  be  hastily 
:;earing  us.  We  were  all  rooted  to  the  spot  ;  and  all 
turned  anxiously  to  the  gates,  which  happily  seemed  to  be 
closed.  Had  this  been  otherwise,  we  should  have  had  no 
time  to  apply  any  remedy  whatever,  and  the  consequences 
must  probably  have  involved  us  all.  In  a  few  seconds,  a 
powerful  dog,  not  much  above  a  furlong  ahead  of  his  pur- 
suers, wheeled  into  sight.  We  all  saw  him  pause  at  the 
gates ;  but,  finding  no  ready  access  through  the  iron  lat- 
tice work  that  protected  the  side  battlements  of  the  little 
bridge,  and  the  pursuit  being  so  hot,  he  resumed  his  course 
along  the  outer  margin  of  the  brook.  Coming  opposite 
to  myself,  he  made  a  dead  stop.  I  had  thus  an  opportuni- 
ty of  looking  him  steadily  in  the  face  ;  which  I  did,  with- 
out more  fear  than  belonged  naturally  to  a  case  of  so  much 
hurry,  and  to  me,  in  particular,  of  mystery.  I  had  never 
heard  of  hydrophobia.  But  necessarily  connecting  the 
furious  pursuit  with  the  dog  that  now  gazed  at  me  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  water,  and  feeling  obliged  to  pre- 
sume that  he  had  made  an  assault  upon  somebody  or  other, 
I  looked  searchingly  into  his  eyes,  and  observed  that  they 
seemed  glazed,  and  as  if  in  a  dreamy  state,  but  at  the  same 
time  suffused  with  some  watery  discharge,  while  his  mouth 
was  covered  with  masses  of  white  foam.  He  looked  most 
earnestly  at  myself  and  the  group  beyond  me  ;  but  he 
made  no  effort  whatever  to  cross  the  brook,  and  apparently 
had  not  the  energy  to  attempt  it  by  a  flying  leap.  My 
brother  William,  who  did  not  in  the  least  suspect  the  real 


INTRODUCTION    TO    THE    WORLD    OF    STRIFE.  135 

danger,  invited  the  dog  to  try  his  chance  in  a  leap  — as- 
suring him  that,  if  he  succeeded,  he  would  knight  him  on 
the  spot.  The  temptation  of  a  knighthood,  however,  did 
not  prove  sufficient.  A  very  few  seconds  brought  his  pur- 
suers within  sight ;  and  steadily,  without  sound  or  gesture 
of  any  kind,  he  resumed  his  flight  in  the  only  direction 
open  to  him,  viz.,  by  a  field  path  across  stiles  to  Greenhill. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  would  have  met  a  bevy  of  children 
going  to  a  dame's  school,  or  carrying  milk  to  rustic  neigh- 
bors. As  it  was,  the  early  morning  kept  the  road  clear  in 
front.  But  behind  immense  was  the  body  of  agitated  pur- 
suers. Leading  the  chase  came,  probably,  half  a  troop  of 
light  cavalry,  all  on  foot,  nearly  all  in  their  stable  dresses, 
and  armed  generally  with  pitchforks,  though  some  eight  or 
ten  carried  carabines.  Half  mingled  with  these,  and  very 
little  in  the  rear,  succeeded  a  vast  miscellaneous  mob,  that 
had  gathered  on  the  chase  as  it  hurried  through  the  purlieus 
of  Deansgate,  and  all  that  populous  suburb  of  Manchester. 
From  some  of  these,  who  halted  to  recover  breath,  we  ob- 
tained an  explanation  of  the  affair.  About  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  Greenhay  stood  some  horse  barracks,  occupied 
usually  by  an  entire  regiment  of  cavalry.  A  large  dog  — 
one  of  a  multitude  that  haunted  the  barracks  —  had  for 
some  days  manifested  an  increasing  suUenness,  snapping 
occasionally  at  dogs  and  horses,  but  finally  at  men.  Upon 
this,  he  had  been  tied  up  ;  but  in  some  way  he  had  this 
morning  liberated  himself:  two  troop  horses  he  had  imme- 
diately bitten  ;  and  had  made  attacks  upon  several  of  the 
men,  who  fortunately  parried  these  attacks  by  means  of 
the  pitchforks  standing  ready  to  their  hands.  On  this  evi- 
dence, coupled  with  the  knowledge  of  his  previous  illness, 
he  was  summarily  condemned  as  mad  ;  and  the  general 
pursuit  commenced,  which  brought  all  parties  (hunters  and 
game)  sweeping  so  wildly  past  the  quiet  grounds  of  Green- 


136  ATTTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

liay.  The  sequel  of  the  affair  was  this  :  none  of  the  cara- 
bineers succeeded  in  getting  a  shot  at  the  dog ;  in  conse- 
quence of  which,  the  chase  lasted  for  17  miles  nominally  ; 
but,  allowing  for  all  the  doublings  and  headings  back  of 
the  dog,  by  computation  for  about  24  ;  and  finally,  in  a 
state  of  utter  exhaustion,  he  was  run  into  and  killed,  some- 
where in  Cheshire.  Of  the  two  horses  whom  he  had  bitten, 
both  treated  alike,  one  died  in  a  state  of  furious  hydropho- 
bia some  two  months  later,  but  the  other  (though  the  more 
seriously  wounded  of  the  two)  manifested  no  symptoms 
whatever  of  constitutional  derangement.  And  thus  it  hap- 
pened that  for  me  this  general  event  of  separation  from  my 
eldest  brother,  and  the  particular  morning  on  which  it  oc- 
curred, were  each  for  itself  separately  and  equally  memorable. 
Freedom  won,  and  death  escaped,  almost  in  the  same  hour, — 
freedom  from  a  yoke  of  such  secret  and  fretful  annoyance 
as  none  could  measure  but  myself,  and  death  probably 
through  the  fiercest  of  torments,  —  these  double  cases  of 
deliverance,  so  sudden  and  so  unlookedfor,  signalized  by 
what  heraldically  might  have  been  described  as  a  two-head- 
ed memorial,  the  establishment  of  an  epoch  in  my  life. 
Not  only  was  the  chapter  of  Infancy  thus  solemnly  fin- 
ished forever,  and  the  record  closed,  but  —  which  cannot 
often  happen  —  the  chapter  was  closed  pompously  and 
conspicuously  by  what  the  early  printers  through  the  15th 
and  16th  centuries  would  have  called  a  bright  and  illumi- 
nated colophon. 


CHAPTER    m. 
INF.INT    LITERATURE. 

"  The  child,''''  says  Wordsworth,  "  is  father  of  the  7nan;  " 
thus  calling  into  conscious  notice  the  fact,  else  faintly  or 
not  at  all  perceived,  that  whatsoever  is  seen  in  the  maturest 
adult,  blossoming  and  bearing  fruit,  must  have  preexisted 
by  way  of  germ  in  the  infant.  Yes  ;  all  that  is  now  broadly 
emblazoned  in  the  man  once  was  latent  —  seen  or  not  seen 
—  as  a  vernal  bud  in  the  child.  But  not,  therefore,  is  it 
true  inversely,  that  all  which  preexists  in  the  child  finds 
its  development  in  the  man.  Rudiments  and  tendencies, 
which  might  have  found,  sometimes  by  accidental,  do  not 
find,  sometimes  under  the  killing  frost  of  counter  forces, 
cannot  find,  their  natural  evolution.  Infancy,  therefore,  is 
to  be  viewed,  not  only  as  part  of  a  larger  world  that  waits 
for  its  final  complement  in  old  age,  but  also  as  a  separate 
worM  itself;  part  of  a  continent,  but  also  a  distinct  penin- 
sula. Most  of  what  he  has,  the  grown-up  man  inherits 
from  his  infant  self;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  he  always 
enters  upon  the  whole  of  his  natural  inheritance. 

Childhood,  therefore,  in  the  midst  of  its  intellectual  weak- 
ness, and  sometimes  even  by  means  of  this  weakness,  en- 
joys a  limited  privilege  of  strength.  The  heart  in  this  sea- 
son of  life  is  apprehensive,  and,  where  its  sensibilities  are 

137 


138  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

profound,  is  endowed  with  a  special  power  of  listening  for 
the  tones  of  truth  —  hidden,  struggling,  or  remote  ;  for  the 
knowledge  being  then  narrow,  the  interest  is  narrow  in  the 
objects  of  knowledge  ;  consequently  the  sensibilities  are 
not  scattered,  are  not  multiplied,  are  not  crushed  and  con- 
founded (as  afterwards  they  are)  under  the  burden  of  that 
distraction  which  lurks  in  the  infinite  littleness  of  details. 

That  mighty  silence  which  infancy  is  thus  privileged 
by  nature  and  by  position  to  enjoy  cooperates  with  an- 
other source  of  power,  —  almost  peculiar  to  youth  and 
youthful  circumstances,  —  which  Wordsworth  also  was  the 
first  person  to  notice.  It  belongs  to  a  profound  experi- 
ence of  the  relations  subsisting  between  ourselves  and 
nature  —  that  not  always  are  we  called  upon  to  seek  ; 
sometimes,  and  in  childhood  above  all,  we  are  sought. 

"  Think  yon,  'mid  all  this  mighty  sum 
Of  things  forever  speaking, 
That  nothing  of  itsdfw'xW  come, 
But  we  must  still  be  seeking  ?  " 

And  again :  — 

"  Nor  less  I  deem  that  there  are  powers 

Which  of  themselves  our  minds  impress  ; 
And  we  ean  feed  this  mind  of  ours 
In  a  wise  passiveness." 

These  cases  of  infancy,  reached  at  intervals  by  special 
revelations,  or  creating  for  itself,  through  its  privileged 
silence  of  heart,  authentic  whispers  of  truth,  or  beauty,  or 
power,  have  some  analogy  to  those  other  cases,  more  di- 
rectly supernatural,  in  which  (according  to  the  old  tradi- 
tional faith  of  our  ancestors)  deep  messages  of  admonition 
reached  an  individual  through  sudden  angular  deflexions 
of  words,  uttered  or  written,  that  had  not  been  originally 
addressed   to   himself.     Of   these   there  were  two  distinct 


INFANT    LITERATURE.  139 

classes  —  those  where  the  person  concerned  had  been 
purely  passive ;  and,  secondly,  those  in  which  he  himself 
had  to  some  extent  cooperated.  The  first  class  have  been 
noticed  by  Cowper,  the  poet,  and  by  George  Herbert,  the 
well-known  pious  brother  of  the  still  better-known  infidel, 
Lord  Herbert,  (of  Cherbury,)  in  a  memorable  sonnet;  scin- 
tillations they  are  of  what  seem  nothing  less  than  provi- 
dential lights  oftentimes  arresting  our  attention,  from  the 
very  centre  of  what  else  seems  the  blank  darkness  of 
chance  and  blind  accident.  "  Books  lying  open,  millions 
of  surprises,"  —  these  are  among  the  cases  to  which  Her- 
bert (and  to  which  Cowper)  alludes,  —  books,  that  is  to 
say,  left  casually  open  without  design  or  consciousness, 
from  which  some  careless  passer-by,  when  throwing  the 
most  negligent  of  glances  upon  the  page,  has  been  startled 
by  a  solitary  word  lying,  as  it  were,  in  ambush,  waiting 
and  lurking  for  Jwn,  and  looking  at  him  steadily  as  an  eye 
searching  the  haunted  places  in  his  conscience.  These  cases 
are  in  principle  identical  with  those  of  the  second  class, 
where  the  inquirer  himself  cooperated,  or  was  not  entire- 
ly passive  ;  cases  such  as  those  which  the  Jews  called 
Bath-col,  or  daughter  of  a  voice,  (the  echo*  augury,)  viz., 

*  "  Echo  anrjury."  —  The  daughter  of  a  voice  meant  an  echo,  the 
original  sound  being  viewed  as  the  mother,  and  the  reverberation,  or 
secondary  sound,  as  the  daughter.  Analogically,  therefore,  the  direct 
and  original  meaning  of  any  word,  or  sentence,  or  counsel,  was  the 
mother  meaning ;  but  the  secondary,  or  mystical  meaning,  created  by 
peculiar  circumstances  for  one  separate  and  peculiar  ear,  the  daugh- 
ter meaning,  or  echo  meaning.  This  mode  of  augury,  through  second- 
ary interpretations  of  chance  words,  is  not,  as  some  readers  may 
fancy,  an  old,  obsolete,  or  merely  Jewish  form  of  seeliing  the  divine 
pleasure.  About  a  century  ago,  a  man  so  famous,  and  by  repute  so 
nnsuperstitious,  as  Dr.  Doddridge,  was  guided  in  a  primary  act  of 
clioice,  influencing  his  whole  after  life,  by  a  few  chance  words  from  a 
child  reading  aloud  to  his  mother.     With  the  other  mode  of  augury, 


140  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

where  a  man,  perplexed  in  judgment  and  sighing  for  some 
determining  counsel,  suddenly  heard  from  a  stranger  in 
some  unlooked-for  quarter  words  not  meant  for  himself, 
but  clamorously  applying  to  the  difficulty  besetting  him. 
In  these  instances,  the  mystical  word,  that  carried  a  secret 
meaning  and  message  to  one  sole  ear  in  the  world,  was 
unsought  for  :  that  constituted  its  virtue  and  its  divinity  ; 
and  to  arrange  means  wilfully  for  catching  at  such  casual 
words,  would  have  defeated  the  purpose.  A  well-known 
variety  of  augury,  conducted  upon  this  principle,  lay  in  the 
"  Sortcs  Biblicpe,"  where  the  Bible  was  the  oracular  book 
consulted,  and  far  more  extensively  at  a  later  period  in  the 
"  Sortes  Virgiliante,"  *  where  the  ^Eneid  was  the  oracle 
consulted. 

viz.,  that  noticed  by  Herbert,  where  not  the  ear  but  the  eye  presides, 
catching  at  some  word  that  chance  has  thrown  upon  the  eye  in  some 
book  left  open  by  negligence,  or  opened  at  random  by  one's  self, 
Cowper,  the  poet,  and  his  friend  Newton,  with  scores  of  others  that 
could  be  mentioned,  were  made  acquainted  through  practical  results 
and  personal  experiences  that  in  tlieir  belief  were  memorably  im- 
portant. 

*  "  Sortes  ViryiliancBy  —  Upon  what  principle  could  it  have  been 
that  Virgil  was  adopted  as  the  oracular  fountain  in  such  a  case  ?  An 
author  so  limited  even  as  to  bulk,  and  much  more  limited  as  regards 
compass  of  thought  and  variety  of  situation  or  character,  was  about 
the  worst  that  pagan  literature  offered.  But  I  myself  once  threw  out 
a  suggestion,  which  (if  it  is  sound)  exposes  a  motive  in  behalf  of  such 
a  choice  that  would  be  likely  to  overrule  the  strong  motives  against 
it.  That  motive  was,  unless  my  whole  speculation  is  groundless,  the 
very  same  which  led  Dante,  in  an  age  of  ignorance,  to  select  Virgil 
as  his  guide  in  Hades.  The  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son  has  always 
traditionally  been  honored  as  the  depositary  of  magical  and  other 
supernatural  gifts.  And  the  same  traditional  privilege  attached  to 
any  man  whose  maternal  grandfather  was  a  sorcerer.  Now,  it  hap- 
pened that  Virgil's  maternal  grandfather  bore  the  name  of  Magus. 
This,  by  the  ignorant  multitude  in  Naples,  &c.,  who  had  been  taught 
to  reverence  his  tomb,  was  translated  from  its  true  acceptation  as  a 


INFANT    LITERATURE,  141 

Something  analogous  to  these  spiritual  transfigurations 
of  a  word  or  a  sentence,  by  a  bodily  organ  (eye  or  ear) 
that  has  been  touched  with  virtue  for  evoking  the  spiritual 
echo  lurking  in  its  recesses,  belongs,  perhaps,  to  every  im- 
passioned mind  for  the  kindred  result  of  forcing  out  the 
peculiar  beauty,  pathos,  or  grandeur  that  may  happen  to 
lodge  (unobserved  by  ruder  forms  of  sensibility)  in  special 
passages  scattered  up  and  down  literature.  Meantime,  I 
wish  the  reader  to  understand  that,  in  putting  forward  the 
peculiar  power  with  which  my  childish  eye  detected  a 
grandeur  or  a  pomp  of  beauty  not  seen  by  others  in  some 
special  instances,  I  am  not  arrogating  more  than  it  is  law- 
ful for  every  man  the  very  humblest  to  arrogate,  viz.,  an 
individuality  of  mental  constitution  so  far  applicable  to 
special  and  exceptionable  cases  as  to  reveal  in  them  a  life 
and  power  of  beauty  which  others  (and  sometimes  which 
all  others)  had  missed. 

The  first  case  belongs  to  the  march  (or  boundary)  line 
between  my  eighth  and  ninth  years  ;  the  others  to  a  period 
earlier  by  two  and  a  half  years.  But  I  notice  the  latest 
case  before  the  others,  as  it  connected  itself  with  a  great 
epoch  in  the  movement  of  my  intellect.  There  is  a  dignity 
to  every  man  in  the  mere  historical  assigning,  if  accurate- 
ly he  can  assign,  the  first  dawning  upon  his  mind  of  any 
godlike  faculty  or  apprehension,  and  more  especially  if  that 
first  dawning  happened  to  connect  itself  with  circumstances 
of  individual  or  (incommunicable   splendor.     The  passage 

proper  name,  to  a  false  one  as  an  appellative  :  it  was  supposed  to  in- 
dicate, not  tlie  name,  but  the  profession  of  the  old  gentleman.  And 
thus,  according  to  the  belief  of  the  lazznroni,  that  excellent  Chris- 
tian, P.  Virgilius  jNIaro,  had  stepped  by  mere  succession  and  riglit  of 
inheritance  into  his  wicked  old  grandpapa's  infernal  powers  and 
knowledge,  both  of  which  he  exercised,  doubtless,  for  centuries  with- 
out blame,  and  i'or  tjc  bci.etit  of  the  faithful. 


142 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 


which  I  am  gohig  to  cite  first  of  all  revealed  to  me  the 
immeasurabienpss  of  the  morally  sublime.  What  was  it, 
and  where  was  it  ?  Strange  the  reader  will  think  it,  and 
strange  *  it  is,  that  a  case  of  colossal  sublimity  should  first 
emerge  from  such  a  writer  as  Phcedrus,  the  J^sopian  fabu- 
list. A  great  mistake  it  was,  on  the  part  of  Doctor  S., 
that  the  second  book  in  the  Latin  language  which  I  w^as 
summoned  to  study  should  have  been  Phoedrus  —  a  writer 
ambitious  of  investing  the  simplicity,  or  rather  homeliness, 
of  ^Esop  with  aulic  graces  and  satiric  brilliancy.  But  so 
it  was  ;  and  Phccdrus  naturally  towered  into  enthusiasm 
when  he  had  occasion  to  mention  that  the  most  intellectual 
of  all  races  amongst  men,  viz.,  the  Athenians,  had  raised 
a  mighty  statue  to  one  who  belonged  to  the  same  class  in 
a  social  sense  as  himself,  viz.,  the  class  of  slaves,  and  rose 
above  that  class  by  the  same  intellectual  power  applying 
itself  to  the  same  object,  viz.,  the  moral  apologue.  These 
were  the  two  lines  in  which  that  glory  of  the  sublime,  so 
stirring  to  my  childish  sense,  seemed  to  burn  as  in  some 
mighty  pharos  :  — 

''  ^sopo  statuam  ingentem  posuere  Attici ; 
Servumque  collocarunt  cternu  in  basi : " 

A  colossal  statue  did  the  Athenians  raise  to  jEsop;  and  a 
]ioor  pariah  slave  they  planted  upon  an  everlasting  pedes- 
tal. I  have  not  scrupled  to  introduce  the  word  pariah., 
because  in  that  way  only  could  I  decipher  to  the  reader  by 
what  particuhxr  avenue  it  was  that  the  sublimity  which  I  fancy 
in  the  passage  reached  my  heart.    This  sublimity  originated 

*  'Strange^  &c  — Yet  I  rememher  that,  in  '-The  Pursuits  of 
Literature,''  —  a  satirical  poem  once  universally  famous,  —  the  lines 
about  Mnemosyne  and  her  daughters,  the  Pierides,  are  cited  as  ex- 
hibiting matchless  sublimity.  Perhaps,  therefore,  if  carefully  searched, 
this  writer  may  contain  other  jewels  not  yet  appreciated. 


INFANT    LITERATURE.  143 

in  the  awful  chasm,  in  the  abyss  that  no  eye  could  bridge, 
between  the  pollution  of  slavery,  —  the  being  a  man,  yet 
without  right  or  lawful  power  belonging  to  a  man, —  be- 
tween this  unutterable  degradation  and  the  starry  altitude 
of  the  slave  at  that  moment  when,  upon  the  unveiling  of 
his  everlasting  statue,  all  the  armies  of  the  earth  might  be 
conceived  as  presenting  arms  to  the  emancipated  man, 
the  cymbals  and  kettledrums  of  kings  as  di'owning  the 
whispers  of  his  ignominy,  and  the  harps  of  all  his  sisters 
that  wept  over  slavery  yet  joining  in  one  choral  gratula- 
tion  to  the  regenerated  slave.  I  assign  the  elements  of 
what  I  did  in  reality  feci  at  that  time,  which  to  the  reader 
may  seem  extravagant,  and  by  no  means  of  what  it  was 
reasonable  to  feel.  But,  in  order  that  full  justice  may  be 
done  to  my  childish  self,  I  must  point  out  to  the  reader 
another  source  of  what  strikes  me  as  real  grandeur. 
Horace,  that  exquisite  master  of  the  lyre,  and  that  most 
shallow  of  critics,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  in  those  days  I 
had  not  read.  Consequently  I  knew  nothing  of  his  idle 
canon,  that  the  opening  of  poems  must  be  humble  and 
subdued.  But  my  own  sensibility  told  me  how  much  of 
additional  grandeur  accrued  to  these  two  lir.es  as  being  the 
immediate  and  all-pompous  opening  of  the  poem.  The 
same  feeling  I  had  received  from  the  crashing  overture  to 
the  grand  chapter  of  Daniel  —  "  Belshazzar  the  king  made 
a  great  feast  to  a  thousand  of  his  lords."  But,  above  all, 
I  felt  this  effect  produced  in  the  two  opening  lines  of 
"  Macbeth  :  "  — 

"  When —  (but  watch  that  an  emphasis  of  thunder  dwells  ujion  that 
word  'when')  — 

When  shall  we  three  meet  again  — 

lu  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain  ?  " 

What  an  oi'chcstral  crash  bursts  upon  the  ear  in  that  all- 
shattering  question  !     And  one  syllable  of  apologetic  prep- 


144  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

aration,  so  as  to  meet  the  suggestion  of  Horace,  would  have 
the  effect  of  emasculating  the  whole  tremendous  alarum. 
The  passage  in  Phsedrus  differs  thus  far  from  that  in 
"  Macbeth,"  that  the  first  line,  simply  stating  a  matter  of 
*act,  with  no  more  of  sentiment  than  belongs  to  the  word 
Ingentem,  and  to  the  antithesis  between  the  two  parties  so 
enormously  divided,  —  iEsop  the  slave  and  the  Athenians, 
—  must  be  read  as  an  appoggiatura,  or  hurried  note  of  in- 
troduction flying  forward  as  if  on  wings  to  descend  with 
the  fury  and  weight  of  a  thousand  orchestras  upon  the 
immortal  passion  of  the  second  line  — "  Servumque  col- 
locarunt  Eterna  in  Basi."  This  passage  from  Phsedrus, 
which  might  be  briefly  designated  The  Apotheosis  of  the 
Slave,  gave  to  me  my  first  grand  and  jubilant  sense  of  the 
moral  sublime. 

Two  other  experiences  of  mine  of  the  same  class  had 
been  earlier,  and  these  I  had  shared  with  my  sister  Eliza- 
beth. The  first  was  derived  from  the  "  Arabian  Nights." 
Mrs.  Barbauld,  a  lady  now  very  nearly  forgotten,*   then 

*  "  Very  nearly  forgotten.'' — Not  quite,  however.  It  must  be 
hard  upon  eighty  or  eighty-five  years  since  she  first  commenced 
authorship  —  a  period  which  allows  time  for  a  great  deal  of  forget- 
ting ;  and  yet,  in  the  very  week  when  I  am  revising  this  passage,  I 
observe  advertised  a  new  edition,  attractively  illustrated,  of  the 
•'Evenings  at  Home"  — a  joint  work  of  Mrs.  Barbauld's  and  her 
brother's,  (the  elder  Dr.  Aikin.)  Mrs.  Barbauld  was  exceedingly 
clever.  Her  mimicry  of  Dr.  Johnson's  style  was  the  best  of  all  that 
exist.  Her  blank  verse  "  Washing  Day,"  descriptive  of  the  discom- 
forts attending  a  mistimed  visit  to  a  rustic  friend,  under  the  affliction 
of  a  family  washing,  is  picturesquely  circumstantiated.  And  her 
prose  hymns  for  children  have  left  upon  my  childish  recollection  a 
deep  impression  of  solemn  beauty  and  simplicity.  Coleridge,  who 
scattered  his  sneering  compliments  very  liberally  up  and  down  the 
world,  used  to  call  the  elder  Dr.  Aikia  (allusively  to  Pope's  well- 
known  Hue  — 

"  No  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast ") 


INFANT    LITERATURE.  145 

filled  a  large  space  in  the  public  eye  ;  in  fact,  as  a  writer 
for  children,  she  occupied  the  place  from  about  1780  to 
1805  which,  from  1805  to  1835,  was  occupied  by  Miss 
Edgeworth.  Only,  as  unhappily  Miss  Edgeworth  is  also 
now  very  nearly  forgotten,  this  is  to  explain  ignotuvi  per 
ignotius,  or  at  least  one  ignotum  by  another  ignotuia. 
However,  since  it  cannot  be  helped,  this  unknown  and  also 
most  well-known  woman,  having  occasion,  in  the  days  of 
her  glory,  to  speak  of  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  insisted  on 
Aladdin,  and,  secondly,  on  Sinbad,  as  the  two  jewels  of  the 
collection.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  my  sister  and  myself 
pronounced  Sinbad  to  be  very  bad,  and  Aladdin  to  be 
pretty  nearly  the  worst,  and  upon  grounds  that  still  strike 
me  as  just.  For,  as  to  Sinbad,  it  is  not  a  story  at  all,  but 
a  mere  succession  of  adventures,  having  no  unity  of  inter- 
est whatsoever ;  and  in  Alladin,  after  the  possession  of  the 
lamp  has  been  once  secured  by  a  pure  accident,  the  story 
ceases  to  move.  All  the  rest  is  a  mere  record  of  uphol- 
stery :  how  this  saloon  was  finished  to-day,  and  that  window 
on  the  next  day,  with  no  fresh  incident  whatever,  except 
the  single  and  transient  misfortune  arising  out  of  the 
advantage  given  to  the  magician  by  the  unpardonable 
stupidity  of  Aladdin  in  regard  to  the  lamp.  But,  whilst 
my  sister  and  I  agreed  in  despising  Aladdin  so  much  as 
almost  to  be  on  the  verge  of  despising  the  queen  of  all  the 
bluestockings  for  so  ill-directed  a  preference,  one  solitary 
section  there  was  of  that  tale  which  fixed  and  fascinated 
my  gaze,  in  a  degree  that  I  never  afterwards  forgot,  and 
did  not  at  that  time  comprehend.  The  sublimity  which  it 
involved   was    mysterious   and   unfathomable   as  regarded 

an  aching  void;  and  the  nephew,  Dr.  Arthur  Aikin,  by  way  of  variety, 
a  void  aching ;  whilst  Mrs.  Barbauld  he  designated  as  that  pleonasm 
of  nakedness ;  since,  as  if  it  were  not  enough  to  be  bare,  she  was  also 
baid. 

10 


146  AUTOBIOGEAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

any  key  which  I  possessed  for  decipliering  its  law  or  origin. 
Made  restless  by  the  blind  sense  which  I  had  of  its  gran- 
deur, I  could  not  for  a  moment  succeed  in  finding  out  lohy 
rt  should  be  grand.  Unable  to  e.xplain  my  own  impressions 
in  "  Aladdin,"  I  did  not  the  less  obstinately  persist  in  be- 
lieving a  sublimity  which  I  could  not  understand.  It  was, 
in  fact,  one  of  those  many  important  cases  which  else- 
where I  have  called  involutes  of  human  sensibility  ;  combi- 
nations in  which  the  materials  of  future  thought  or  feeling 
are  carried  as  imperceptibly  into  the  mind  as  vegetable 
seeds  are  carried  variously  combined  through  the  atmos- 
phere, or  by  means  of  rivers,  by  birds,  by  winds,  by 
waters,  into  remote  countries.  But  the  reader  shall  judge 
for  himself  At  the  opening  of  the  tale,  a  magician  living 
in  the  central  depths  of  Africa  is  introduced  to  us  as  one 
made  aware  by  his  secret  art  of  an  enchanted  lamp  en- 
dowed with  supernatural  powers  available  for  the  service 
of  any  man  whatever  who  should  get  it  into  his  keeping. 
But  there  lies  the  difficulty.  The  lamp  is  imprisoned  in 
subterraneous  chambers,  and  from  these  it  can  be  releasea 
only  by  the  hands  of  an  innocent  child.  But  this  is  no 
enough  :  the  child  must  have  a  special  horoscope  writtei 
in  the  stars,  or  else  a  peculiar  destiny  written  in  his  consti- 
tution, entitling  him  to  take  possession  of  the  lamp.  Where 
shall  such  a  child  be  found  ?  Where  shall  he  be  sought } 
The  magician  knows  :  he  applies  his  ear  to  the  earth  ;  he 
listens  to  the  innumerable  sounds  of  footsteps  that  at  the 
moment  of  his  experiment  arc  tormenting  the  surface  of 
the  globe;  and  amongst  them  all,  at  a  distance  of  six 
thousand  miles,  playing  in  the  streets  of  Bagdad,  he  distin- 
guishes the  peculiar  steps  of  the  child  Aladdin.  Through 
this  mighty  labyrinth  of  sounds,  which  Archimedes,  aided 
by  his  ar enar ins,  cow\di  not  sum  or  disentangle,  one  solitary 
infant's  feet  are  distinctly  recognized  on  the  banks  of  the 


INFANT    LITERATURE.  147 

Tigris,  distant  by  four  hundred  and  forty  days'  march  of 
an  army  or  a  caravan.  These  feet,  these  steps,  the  sor- 
cerer knows,  and  challenges  in  his  heart  as  the  feet,  as  the 
steps  of  that  innocent  boy,  through  whose  hands  only  he 
could  have  a  chance  for  reaching  the  lamp. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  the  wicked  magician  exercises 
two  demoniac  gifts.  First,  he  has  the  power  to  disarm 
Babel  itself  of  its  confusion.  Secondly,  after  having  laid 
aside  as  useless  many  billions  of  earthly  sounds,  and  after 
having  fastened  his  murderous  *  attention  upon  one  insu- 
lated tread,  he  has  the  power,  still  more  unsearchable,  of 
reading  in  that  hasty  movement  an  alphabet  of  new  and 
infinite  symbols  ;  for,  in  order  that  the  sound  of  the  child's 
feet  should  be  significant  and  intelligible,  that  sound  must 
open  into  a  gamut  of  infinite  compass.  The  pulses  of  the 
heart,  the  motions  of  the  will,  the  phantoms  of  the  brain 
must  repeat  themselves  in  secret  hieroglyphics  uttered  by 
the  flying  footsteps.  Even  the  inarticulate  or  brutal 
sounds  of  the  globe  must  be  all  so  many  languages  and 
ciphers  that  somewhere  have  their  corresponding  keys  — 
have  their  own  grammar  and  syntax ;  and  thus  the  least 
things  in  the  universe  must  be  secret  mirrors  to  the  greatest. 
Palmistry  has  something  of  the  same  dark  sublimity.  All 
this,  by  rude  efforts  at  explanation  that  mocked  my  feeble 
command  of  words,  I  communicated  to  my  sister ;  and 
she,  whose  sympathy  with  my  meaning  was  always  so 
quick  and  true,  often  outrunning  electrically  my  imperfect 
expressions,  felt  the  passage  in  the  same  way  as  myself,t 

*  "  Murderous  ; "  for  it  was  his  intention  to  leave  Aladdin  immured 
in  the  subterraneous  chambers. 

t  The  reader  will  not  understand  me  as  attributing  to  the  Arabian 
originator  of  Aladdin  all  the  sentiment  of  the  case  as  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  disentangle  it.  He  spoke  what  he  did  not  understand  ;  for, 
as  to  scntimeut  of  any  kind,  ail  Orientals  are  obtuse  and  impassive. 


118  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

but  not,  perhaps,  in  the  same  degree.  She  was  much  be- 
yond me  in  velocity  of  apprehension  and  many  other  qual- 
ities of  intellect.  Here  only,  viz.,  on  cases  of  the  dark 
sublime,  where  it  rested  upon  dim  abstractions,  and  when 
no  particular  trait  of  moral  grandeur  came  forward,  we  dif- 
fered —  differed,  that  is  to  say,  as  by  more  or  by  less.  Else, 
even  as  to  the  sublime,  and  numbers  of  other  intellectual 
questions  which  rose  up  to  us  from  our  immense  reading,  we 
drew  together  with  a  perfect  fidelity  of  sympathy  ;  and  there- 
fore I  pass  willingly  from  a  case  which  exemplified  one  of  our 
rare  differences  to  another,  not  less  interesting  for  itself, 
which  illustrated  (what  occurred  so  continually)  the  intensity 
of  our  agreement. 

No  instance  of  noble  revenge  that  ever  I  heard  of  seems 
so  effective,  if  considered  as  applied  to  a  noble-minded 
wrong  doer,  or  in  any  case  as  so  pathetic.  From  what 
quarter  the  story  comes  originally,  was  unknown  to  us  at 
the  time,  and  I  have  never  met  it  since  ;  so  that  possibly 
it  may  be  new  to  the  reader.  We  found  it  in  a  book  writ- 
ten for  the  use  of  his  own  children  by  Dr.  Percival,  the 
physician  who  attended  at  Greenhay.  Dr.  P.  was  a  literary 
man,  of  elegant  tastes  and  philosophic  habits.  Some  of  his 
papers  may  be  found  in  the  "  Manchester  Philosophic 
Transactions ; "  and  these  I  have  heard  mentioned  with 
respect,  though,  for  myself,  I  have  no  personal  knowledge 
of  them.  Some  presumption  meantime  arises  in  their 
favor  from  the  fact  that  he  had  been  a  favored  correspond- 
ent of  the  most  eminent  Frenchmen  at  that  time  who  culti- 
vated literature  jointly  with  philosophy.  Voltaire,  Diderot 
Maupertuis,  Condorcet,  and  D'Alembert  had  all  treated  him 


There  are  other  sublimities  (some,  at  least)  in  the  "Arabian  Nights," 
which  first  become  such  —  a  gas  that  first  kindles  —  when  entering 
into  combination  with  new  elements  in  a  Christian  atmosphere. 


INFANT    LITEEATtJRE.  149 

with  distinction ;  and  I  have  heard  my  mother  say  that,  in 
days  before  I  or  my  sister  could  have  known  him,  he 
attempted  vainly  to  interest  her  in  these  French  luminaries 
by  reading  extracts  from  their  frequent  letters ;  which, 
however,  so  far  from  reconciling  her  to  the  letters,  or  to 
the  writers  of  the  letters,  had  the  unhappy  effect  of  rivet- 
ing her  dislike  (previously  budding)  to  the  doctor,  as  their 
receiver,  and  the  proncur  of  their  authors.  The  tone  of 
the  letters — hollow,  insincere,  and  full  of  courtly  civilities 
':o  Dr.  P.,  as  a  known  friend  of  "  the  tolerance  "  (meaning, 
of  toleration)  —  certainly  was  not  adapted  to  the  English 
taste  ;  and  in  this  respect  was  specially  offensive  to  my 
mother,  as  always  assuming  of  the  doctor,  that,  by  mere 
necessity,  as  being  a  philosopher,  he  must  be  an  infidel. 
Dr.  P.  left  that  question,  I  believe,  "  m  medio^^''  neither 
assenting  nor  denying  ;  and  undoubtedly  there  was  no  par- 
ticular call  upon  him  to  publish  his  Confession  of  Faith 
before  one  who,  in  the  midst  of  her  rigorous  politeness, 
suffered  it  to  be  too  transparent  that  she  did  not  like  him. 
It  is  always  a  pity  to  see  any  thing  lost  and  wasted,  espe- 
cially love  ;  and,  therefore,  it  was  no  subject  for  lamenta- 
tion, that  too  probably  the  philosophic  doctor  did  not 
enthusiastically  like  her.  But,  if  really  so,  that  made  no 
difference  in  his  feelings  towards  my  sister  and  myself.  Us 
he  did  like  ;  and,  as  one  proof  of  his  regard,  he  presented  us 
jointly  with  such  of  his  works  as  could  be  supposed  inter- 
esting to  two  young  literati,  whose  combined  ages  made  no 
more  at  this  period  than  a  baker's  dozen.  These  pres- 
entation copies  amounted  to  two  at  the  least,  both  octavoes, 
and  one  of  them  entitled  The  Father'' s — something  or 
other  ;  what  was  it  ?  —  Assistant,  perhaps.  How  much 
assistance  the  doctor  might  furnish  to  the  fathers  upon  this 
wicked  little  planet,  I  cannot  say.  But  fathers  are  a  stub- 
born race  ;  it  is  very  little  use  trying  to  assist  them.     Better 


150  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

always  to  prescribe  for  the  rising  generation.  And  cer- 
tainly the  impression  which  he  made  upon  us  —  my  sister 
and  myself —  by  the  story  in  question  was  deep  and 
memorable  :  my  sister  wept  over  it,  and  wept  over  the 
remembrance  of  it ;  and,  not  long  after,  carried  its  sweet 
aroma  off  with  her  to  heaven  ;  whilst  I,  for  my  part,  have 
never  forgotten  it.  Yet,  perhaps,  it  is  injudicious  to  have 
too  much  excited  the  reader's  expectations ;  therefore, 
reader,  understand  what  it  is  that  you  are  invited  to  hear  — 
not  much  of  a  story,  but  simply  a  noble  sentiment,  such  as 
that  of  Louis  XII.  when  he  refusei,  as  King  of  France,  to 
avenge  his  own  injuries  as  Duke  of  Orleans  —  such  as  that 
of  Hadrian,  when  he  said  that  a  Roman  imperator  ought 
to  die  standing,  meaning  that  CiBsar,  as  the  man  who  rep- 
resented almighty  Rome,  should  face  the  last  enemy  as  the 
first  in  an  attitude  of  unconquerable  defiance.  Here  is  Dr. 
Percival's  story,  which  (again  I  warn  you)  will  collapse 
into  nothing  at  all,  unless  you  yourself  are  able  to  dilate  it 
by  expansive  sympathy  with  its  sentiment. 

A  young  officer  (in  what  army,  no  matter)  had  so  far 
forgotten  himself,  in  a  moment  of  irritation,  as  to  strike  a 
private  soldier,  full  of  personal  dignity,  (as  sometimes  hap- 
pens in  all  ranks,)  and  distinguished  for  his  courage.  The 
inexorable  laws  of  military  discipline  forbade  to  the  injured 
soldier  any  practical  redress  —  he  could  look  for  no  retali- 
ation by  acts.  Words  only  were  at  his  command  ;  and,  in 
a  tumult  of  indignation,  as  he  turned  away,  the  soldier  said 
to  his  officer  that  he  would  "  make  him  repent  it."  This, 
wearing  the  shape  of  a  menace,  naturally  rekindled  the 
officer's  anger,  and  intercepted  any  disposition  which  might 
be  rising  within  him  towards  a  sentiment  of  remorse  ;  and 
thus  the  irritation  between  the  two  3'oung  men  grew  hotter 
than  before.  Some  weeks  after  this  a  partial  action  took 
place  with  the  enemy.     Suppose  yourself  a  spectator,  and 


INFANT    LITERATURE.  151 

looking  down  into  a  valley  occupied  by  the  two  armies. 
They  are  facing  each  other,  you  see,  in  martial  array. 
But  it  is  no  more  than  a  skirmish  which  is  going  on  ;  in 
the  course  of  which,  however,  an  occasion  suddenly  arises 
for  a  desperate  service.  A  redoubt,  which  has  fallen  into 
the  enemy's  hands,  must  be  recaptured  at  any  price,  and 
under  circumstances  of  all  but  hopeless  difficulty.  A  strong 
party  has  volunteered  for  the  service  ;  there  is  a  cry  for 
somebody  to  head  them  ;  you  see  a  soldier  step  out  from 
the  ranks  to  assume  this  dangerous  leadership;  the  party 
moves  rapidly  forward  ;  in  a  few  minutes  it  is  swallowed  up 
from  your  eyes  in  clouds  of  smoke  ;  for  one  half  hour, 
from  behind  these  clouds,  you  receive  hieroglyphic  reports 
of  bloody  strife  —  fierce  repeating  signals,  flashes  from  the 
guns,  rolling  musketry,  and  exulting  hurrahs  advancing  or 
receding,  slackening  or  redoubling.  At  length  all  is  over; 
the  redoubt  has  been  recovered  ;  that  which  was  lost  is 
found  again  ;  the  jewel  which  had  been  made  captive  is 
ransomed  with  blood.  Crimsoned  with  glorious  gore,  the 
wreck  of  the  conquering  party  is  relieved,  and  at  liberty  to 
return.  From  the  river  you  see  it  ascending.  The  plume- 
crested  officer  in  command  rushes  forward,  with  his  left 
hand  raising  his  hat  in  homage  to  the  blackened  fragments 
of  what  once  was  a  flag,  whilst,  with  his  right  hand,  he 
seizes  that  of  the  leader,  though  no  more  than  a  private  from 
the  ranks.  That  perplexes  you  not ;  mystery  you  see  none 
in  that.  For  distinctions  of  order  perish,  ranks  are  con- 
founded, "high  and  low"  are  words  without  a  meaning, 
and  to  wreck  goes  every  notion  or  feeling  that  divides  the 
noble  from  the  noble,  or  the  brave  man  from  the  brave.  But 
wherefore  is  it  that  now,  when  suddenly  they  wheel  into 
mutual  recognition,  suddenly  they  pause  ?  This  soldier, 
this  officer  —  who  are  they  ?  O  reader  !  once  before  they 
had  stood  face  to  face  —  the  soldier  it  is  that  was  struck  ; 


152  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

the  officer  it  is  that  struck  him.  Once  again  they  are 
meeting ;  and  the  gaze  of  armies  is  upon  them.  If  for  a 
moment  a  doubt  divides  them,  in  a  moment  the  doubt  has 
perished.  One  glance  exchanged  between  them  publishes 
the  forgiveness  that  is  sealed  forever.  As  one  who  recov- 
ers a  bi'other  whom  he  had  accounted  dead,  the  officer  sprang 
forward,  threw  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  soldier, 
and  kissed  him,  as  if  he  were  some  martyr  glorified  by 
that  shadow  of  death  from  which  he  was  returning ;  whilst, 
on  his  part,  the  soldier,  stepping  back,  and  carrying  his 
open  hand  through  the  beautiful  motions  of  the  military 
salute  to  a  superior,  makes  this  immortal  answer  —  that 
answer  which  shut  up  forever  the  memoiy  of  the  indig- 
nity offered  to  him,  even  whilst  for  the  last  time  alluding  to 
it :  "  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  told  you  before  that  I  would  make 
you  repent  it.'" 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   FEMALE  INFIDEL. 

At  the  time  of  my  father's  death,  I  was  nearly  seven 
years  old.  In  the  next  four  years,  during  which  we  con- 
tinued to  live  at  Greenhay,  nothing  memorable  occurred, 
except,  indeed,  that  troubled  parenthesis  in  my  life  which 
connected  me  with  my  brother  William,  —  this  certainly 
was  memorable  to  myself,  —  and,  secondly,  the  visit  of  a 
most  eccentric  young  woman,  who,  about  nine  years  later, 
drew  the  eyes  of  all  England  upon  herself  by  her  unprin- 
cipled conduct  in  an  affair  affecting  the  life  of  two  Oxonian 
undergraduates.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Lord  Le  De- 
spencer,  (known  previously  as  Sir  Francis  Dashwood  ;)  and 
at  this  time  (meaning  the  time  of  her  visit  to  Greenhay) 
she  was  about  twenty-two  years  old,  with  a  face  and  a 
figure  classically  beautiful,  and  with  the  reputation  of  ex- 
traordinary accomplishments  ;  these  accomplishments  being 
not  only  eminent  in  their  degree,  but  rare  and  interesting  in 
their  kind.  In  particular,  she  astonished  every  person  by  her 
impromptu  performances  on  the  organ,  and  by  her  powers 
of  disputation.  These  last  she  applied  entirely  to  attacks 
upon  Christianity  ;  for  she  openly  professed  infidelity  in  the 
most  audacious  form  ;  and  at  my  mother's  table  she  cer- 
tainly proved  more  than  a  match  for  all  the  clergymen  of 

153 


154  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

the  neighboring  towns,  some  of  whom  (as  the  most  intel- 
lectual persons  of  that  neighborhood)  were  daily  invited  to 
meet  her.  It  was  a  mere  accident  which  had  introduced 
her  to  my  mother's  house.  Happening  to  hear  from  my 
sister  Mary's  govei'ness  *  that  she  and  her  pupil  were  going 
on  a  visit  to  an  old  Catholic  family  in  the  county  of  Dur- 
ham, (the  family  of  Mr.  Swinburne,  who  was  known  ad- 
vantageously to  the  public  by  his  "  Travels  in  Spain  and 
Sicily,"  &c.,)  Mrs.  Lee,  whose  education  in  a  French  con- 
vent, aided  by  her  father's  influence,  had  introduced  her 
extensively  to  the   knowledge  of  Catholic  families  in  Eng- 


*  "Jl/j/  sister  Mary^s  governess."  —  This  governess  was  a  Miss 
Wesley,  niece  to  John  Wesley,  the  founder  of  Methodism.  And  the 
mention  of  her  recalls  to  me  a  fact,  which  was  recently  revived  and 
misstated  by  the  whole  newspaper  press  of  the  island.  It  had  been 
always  known  that  some  relationship  existed  between  the  Wcllesleys 
and  John  Wesley.  Their  names  had,  in  fact,  been  originally  the 
same;  and  the  Duke  of  Wellington  himself,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his 
career,  when  sitting  in  the  Irish  House  of  Commons,  was  always 
known  to  the  Irish  journals  as  Captain  Wesley.  Upon  this  arose  a 
natural  belief  that  the  aristocratic  branch  of  the  house  had  improved 
the  name  into  Wellesley.  But  the  true  process  of  change  had  been 
precisely  the  other  way.  Not  Wesley  had  been  expanded  into 
Wellesley,  but,  inversely,  Wellesley  had  been  contracted  by  household 
usage  into  Wesley.  The  name  must  have  been  Wellesley  in  its  earliest 
stage,  since  it  was  founded  upon  a  connection  with  Wells  CathedraL 
It  had  obeyed  the  same  process  as  prevails  in  many  hundreds  of  other 
names :  St.  Leger,  for  instance,  is  always  pronounced  as  if  written 
Sillinger ;  Cholmondeley  as  Chumleigh ;  Marjoribanks  as  March- 
banks  ;  and  the  illustrious  name  of  Cavendish  was  for  centuries  fa- 
miliarly pronounced  Candish ;  and  Wordsworth  has  even  introduced 
this  name  into  verse  so  as  to  compel  the  reader,  by  a  metrical  coer- 
cion, into  calling  it  Candish.  Miss  Wesley's  family  had  great  musi- 
cal sensibility  and  skill.  This  led  the  fiimily  into  giving  musical 
parties,  at  which  was  constantly  to  be  found  Lord  Mornington,  the 
father  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  For  these  parties  it  was,  as  ]\Iiss 
Wesley  informed  me,  that  the  earl  composed  his  most  celebrated  glee. 


THE    FEMALE    INF1E:L.  155 

land,  and  who  had  herself  an  invitation  to  the  same  house 
at  the  same  time,  wrote  to  offer  the  use  of  her  carriage  to 
convey  all  three — i.  e.,  herself,  my  sister,  and  her  gov- 
erness—  to  Mr.  Swinburne's.  This  naturally  drew  forth 
from  my  mother  an  invitation  to  Greenhay  ;  and  to  Green- 
hay  she  came.  On  the  imperial  of  her  carriage,  and  else- 
where, she  described  herself  as  the  Hon.  Antonina  Dash- 
wood  Lee.  But,  in  fact,  being  only  the  illegitimate  daughter 
of  Lord  Le  Despencer,  she  was  not  entitled  to  that  designa- 
tion. She  had,  however,  received  a  bequest  even  more  en- 
viable from  her  father,  viz.,  not  less  than  forty-five  thousand 
pounds.  At  a  very  early  age,  she  had  married  a  young 
Oxonian,  distinguished  for  nothing  but  a  very  splendid  per- 
son, which  had  procured  him  the  distinguishing  title  of 
Handsome  Lee;  and  from  him  she  had  speedily  separated, 
oil  the  agreement  of  dividing  the  fortune. 

My  mother  little  guessed  what  sort  of  person  it  was 
whom  she  had  asked  into  her  family.  So  much,  however, 
she  had  understood  from  Miss  Wesley  —  that  Mrs.  Lee  was 
a  bold  thinker  ;  and  that,  for  a  woman,  she  had  an  astonish- 
ing command  of  theological  learning.  This  it  was  that 
suggested  the  clerical  invitations,  as  in  such  a  case  likely  to 
furnish  the  most  appropriate  society.  But  this  led  to  a 
painful  result.     It  might  easily  have  happened  that  a  very 

Here  also  it  was,  or  in  similar  musical  circles  gathered  about  himself 
by  the  first  Lord  Mornington,  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had 
formed  and  cultivated  his  unaifccted  love  for  music  of  the  highest 
class,  i.  e.,  for  the  im])assioned  music  of  the  serious  opera.  And  it 
occurs  to  me  as  highly  probable,  that  Mrs.  Lee's  connection  with  the 
Wesleys,  through  which  it  was  that  she  became  accjuainted  with  my 
motlier,  must  have  rested  upon  the  common  interest  which  she  and 
the  Wesleys  had  in  the  organ  and  in  the  class  of  music  suited  to  that 
instrument.  Mrs.  Lee  herself  was  an  improvisatrice  of  the  first  class 
upon  the  organ  ;  and  the  two  brothers  of  Miss  Wesley,  Samuel  and 
Charles,  ranked  for  very  many  years  as  the  first  organists  in  Europa 


156  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

learned  clergyman  should  not  specially  have  qualified  him- 
self for  the  service  of  a  theological  tournament ;  and  my 
mother's  range  of  acquaintance  was  not  very  extensive 
amongst  the  clerical   body.     But  of  these  the  two  leaders, 

as   regarded    public   consideration,  were    Mr.  H ,  my 

guardian,  and  Mr.  Clowes,  who  for  move  than  fifty  years 
officiated  as  rector  of  St.  John's  Church  in  Manchester. 
In  fact,  the  golden  *  jubilee  of  his  pastoral  connection  with 
St.  John's  was  celebrated  many  years  after  with  much 
demonstrative  expression  of  public  sympathy  on  the  part 
of  universal  Manchester  —  the  most  important  city  in  the 
island  next  after  London.  No  men  could  have  been  found 
who  were  less  fitted  to  act  as  champions  in  a  duel  on  behalf 

of  Christianity.     Mr.  H was  dreadfully  commonplace  ; 

dull,  dreadfully  dull  ;  and,  by  the  necessity  of  his  nature, 
incapable  of  being  in  deadly  earnest,  which  his  splendid 
antagonist  at  all  times  was.  His  encounter,  therefore,  with 
Mrs.  Lee  presented  the  distressing  spectacle  of  an  old, 
toothless,  mumbling  mastiff",  fighting  for  the  household  to 
which  he  owed  allegiance  against  a  young  leopardess  fresh 
from  the  forests.  Every  touch  from  her,  every  velvety  pat, 
drew  blood.  And  something  comic  mingled  with  what  my 
mother  felt  to  be  paramount  tragedy.  Far  diflferent  was 
Mr.  Clowes :  holy,  visionary,  apostolic,  he  could  not  be 
treated  disrespectfully.  No  man  could  deny  him  a  qualified 
homage.  But  for  any  polemic  service  he  wanted  the  taste, 
the  training,  and  the  particular  sort  of  erudition  required. 
Neither   would  such    advantages,  if   he  had   happened   to 


*  "TAe  golden  jitlike:'  —  This,  in  Germany,  is  used  popularly  as  a 
technical  expression  :  a  married  couple,  when  celebrating  the  fiftieth 
anniversary  of  their  marriage  day,  are  said  to  keep  their  golden 
jubilee  ;  but  on  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  they  have  credit  only  for 
a  silver  jubilee. 


THE     FEMALE    INFIDEL.       *  157 

possess  them,  have  at  all  availed  him  in  a  case  like  this. 
Horror,  blank  horror,  seized  him  upon  seeing  a  woman,  a 
young  woman,  a  woman  of  captivating  beauty,  whom  God 
had  adorned  so  eminently  with  gifts  of  person  and  of  mind, 
breathing  sentiments  that  to  him  seemed  fresh  fi'om  the 
mintage  of  hell.  He  could  have  apostrophized  her  (as 
long  afterwards  he  himself  told  me)  in  the  words  of  Shak- 
speare's  Juliet  — 

"  Beautiful  tyrant !  fiend  angelical !  " 

for  he  was  one  of  those  who  never  think  of  Christianity  as 
the  subject  of  defence.  Could  sunshine,  could  light,  could 
the  glories  of  the  dawn  call  for  defence  ?  Not  as  a  thing 
to  be  defended,  but  as  a  thing  to  be  interpreted,  as  a  thing 
to  be  illuminated,  did  Christianity  exist  for  hi?n.  He, 
therefore,  was  even  more  unserviceable  as  a  champion 
against  the  deliberate  impeacher  of  Christian  evidences 
than  my  reverend  guardian. 

Thus  it  was  that  he  himself  explained  his  own  position 
in  after  days,  when  I  had  reached  my  sixteenth  year,  and 
visited  him  upon  terms  of  friendship  as  close  as  can  ever 
have  existed  between  a  boy  and  a  man  already  gray  headed. 
Him  and  his  noiseless  parsonage,  the  pensive  abode  for  sixty 
years  of  religious  revery  and  anchoritish  self-denial,  I  have 
described  farther  on.  In  some  limited  sense  he  belongs  to 
our  literature,  for  he  was,. in  fact,  the  introducer  of  Swe- 
denborg  to  this  country  ;  as  being  himself  partially  the 
translator  of  Swedenborg  ;  and  still  more  as  organizing  a 
patronage  to  other  people's  translations  ;  and  also,  I  believe, 
as  republishing  the  original  Latin  works  of  Swedenborg. 
To  say  that. of  Mr.  Clowes,  was,  until  lately,  but  another 
way  of  describing  him  as  a  delirious  dreamer.  At  present, 
(1853,)  I  presume  the  reader  to  be  aware  that  Cam- 
bridge has,  within  the  last  few  years,  unsettled  and  even 


158  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

revolutionized  our  estimates  of  Swedenborg  as  a  philoso- 
plier.  That  man,  indeed,  wliom  Emerson  ranks  as  one 
amongst  his  inner  consistory  of  intellectual  potentates 
cannot  be  the  absolute  trifler  that  Kant,  (who  knew  him 
only  by  the  most  trivial  of  his  pretensions,)  eighty  years 
ago,  supposed  him.  Assuredly,  Mr.  Clowes  was  no  trifler, 
but  lived  habitually  a  life  of  power,  though  in  a  world  of 
religious  mysticism  and  of  apocalyptic  visions.  To  him, 
being  such  a  man  by  nature  and  by  habit,  it  was  in  effect 
the  lofty  Lady  Geraldine  from  Coleridge's  "Christabel" 
that  stood  before  him  in  this  infidel  lady.  A  magnificent 
witch  she  was,  like  the  Lady  Gei-aldine  ;  having  the  same 
superb  beauty  ;  the  same  power  of  throwing  spells  over 
the  ordinary  gazer ;  and  yet  at  intervals  unmasking  to 
some  solitary,  unfascinated  spectator  the  same  dull  blink 
of  a  snaky  eye  ;  and  revealing,  through  the  most  fugitive 
of  gleams,  a  traitress  couchant  beneath  what  else  to  all 
others  seemed  the  form  of  a  lady,  armed  with  incomparable 
pretensions  —  one  that  was 

"  Beautiful  exceedingly, 
Like  a  lady  I'rom  a  far  couiitrie." 

The  scene,  as  I  heard  it  sketched  long  years  afterwards 
by  more  than  one  of  those  who  had  witnessed  it,  was  pain- 
ful in  excess.  And  the  shock  given  to  my  mother  was 
memorable.  For  the  first  and  the  last  time  in  her  long 
and  healthy  life,  she  suffered  an  alarming  nervous  attack. 
Partly  this  arose  from  the  conflict  between  herself  in  the 
character  of  hostess^  and  herself  as  a  loyal  daughter  of 
Christian  faith  ;  she  shuddered,  in  a  degree  almost  incon- 
troUable  and  beyond  her  power  to  dissemble,  at  the  un- 
feminine  intrepidity  with  which  "  the  leopardess "  con- 
ducted her  assaults  upon  the  sheepfolds  of  orthodoxy  ; 
and  partly,  also,  this  internal  conflict  arose  from  concern 


THE    FEMALE    INFIDEL.  159 

on  behalf  of  her  own  servants,  who  waited  at  dinner,  and 
were  inevitably  liable  to  impressions  from  what  they 
heard.  My  mother,  by  original  choice,  and  by  early  train- 
ing under  a  very  aristocratic  father,  recoiled  as  austerely 
from  all  direct  communication  with  her  servants  as  the 
Pythia  at  Delphi  from  the  attendants  that  swept  out  the 
temple.  But  not  the  less  her  conscience,  in  all  stages  of 
her  life,  having  or  not  having  any  special  knowledge  of 
religion,  acknowledged  a  pathetic  weight  of  obligation  to 
remove  from  her  household  all  confessedly  corrupting  in- 
fluences. And  here  was  one  which  s.ie  could  not  remove. 
What  chiefly  she  feared,  on  behalf  of  her  servants,  was 
either,  1st,  the  danger  from  the  simple  fact^  now  suddenly 
made  known  to  them,  that  it  was  possible  for  a  person 
unusually  gifted  to  deny  Christianity  ;  such  a  denial  and 
haughty  abjuration  could  not  but  carry  itself  more  pro- 
foundly into  the  reflective  mind,  even  of  servants,  when 
the  arrow  came  winged  and  made  buoyant  by  the  gay 
feathering  of  so  many  splendid  accomplishments.  This 
general  fact  was  appreciable  by  those  who  would  forget, 
and  never  could  have  understood,  the  particular  arguments 
of  the  infidel.  Yet,  even  as  regarded  these  particular  ar- 
guments, 2dly,  my  mother  feared  that  some  one — brief, 
telling,  and  rememberable  —  might  be  singled  out  from  the 
rest,  might  transplant  itself  to  the  servants'  hall,  and  take 
root  for  life  in  some  mind  sufficiently  thoughtful  to  invest  it 
with  interest,  and  yet  far  removed  from  any  opportunities, 
through  books  or  society,  for  disarming  the  argument  of 
its  sting.  Such  a  danger  was  quickened  by  the  character 
and  pretensions  of  Mrs.  Lee's  footman,  who  was  a  daily 
witness,  whilst  standing  behind  his  mistress's  chair  at  din- 
ner, to  the  confusion  which  she  carried  into  the  hostile 
camp,  and  might  be  supposed  to  renew  such  discussions  in 
the  servants'  hall  with  singular  advantages  for  a  favorable 


IGO  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

attention.  For  he  was  a  showy  and  most  audacious  Lon- 
doner, and  what  is  technically  known  in  the  language  of 
servants'  hiring  offices  as  "  a  man  of  figure."  He  might, 
therefore,  be  considered  as  one  dangerously  armed  for 
shaking  religious  principles,  especially  amongst  the  female 
servants.  Here,  however,  I  believe  that  my  mother  was 
mistaken.  Women  of  humble  station,  less  than  any  other 
class,  have  any  tendency  to  sympathize  with  boldness  that 
manifests  itself  in  throwing  off  the  yoke  of  religion.  Per- 
haps a  natural  instinct  tells  them  that  levity  of  that  nature 
will  pretty  surely  extend  itself  contagiously  to  other  modes 
of  conscientious  obligation ;  at  any  rate,  my  own  experi- 
ence would  warrant  me  in  doubting  whether  any  instance 
were  ever  known  of  a  woman,  in  the  rank  of  servant,  re- 
garding infidelity  or  irreligion  as  something  brilliant,  or  in- 
teresting, or  in  any  way  as  favorably  distinguishing  a  man. 
Meantime,  this  conscientious  apprehension  on  account  of 
the  servants  applied  to  contingencies  that  were  remote. 
Rut  the  pity  on  account  of  the  poor  lady  herself  applied  to 
a  danger  that  seemed  imminent  and  deadly.  This  beautiful 
and  splendid  young  creature,  as  my  mother  knew,  was 
floating,  without  anchor  or  knowledge  of  any  anchoring 
grounds,  upon  the  unfathomable  ocean  of  a  London  world, 
which,  for  /ter,  was  wrapped  in  darkness  as  regarded  its  dan- 
gers, and  thus  for  her  the  chances  of  shipwreck  were  seven 
times  multiplied.  It  was  notorious  that  Mrs.  Lee  had  no 
protector  or  guide,  natural  or  legal.  Her  marriage  had,  in 
fact,  mstead  of  imposing  new  restraints,  released  her  from 
old  ones.  For  the  legal  separation  of  Doctors'  Commons  — 
technically  called  a  divorce  simply  a  mensa  et  thoro,  (from 
bed  and  board,)  and  not  a  vinculo  matrimonii  (from  the 
very  tie  and  obligation  of  marriage)  —  had  removed  her  by 
law  from  the  control  of  her  husband  ;  whilst,  at  the  same 
lime,  the  matrimonial  condition,  of  course,  enlarged  that 


THE    FEMALE    INFIDEL.  161 

liberty  of  action  which  else  is  unavoidably  narrowed  by 
tlie  reserve  and  delicacy  natural  to  a  young  woman,  whilst 
yet  unmarried.  Here  arose  one  peril  more  ;  and,  2dly, arose 
this  most  unusual  aggravation  of  that  peril  —  that  Mrs  Lee 
was  deplorably  ignorant  of  English  life ;  indeed,  of  life 
universally.  Strictly  speaking,  she  was  even  yet  a  raw, 
untutored  novice,  turned  suddenly  loose  from  the  twilight  of 
a  monastic  seclusion.  Under  any  circumstances,  such  a 
situation  lay  open  to  an  amount  of  danger  that  was  afflict- 
ing to  contemplate.  But  one  dreadful  exasperation  of  these 
fatal  auguries  lay  in  the  peculiar  temper  of  Mrs.  Lee,  as 
connected  with  her  mfidel  thinking.  Her  nature  was  too 
frank  and  bold  to  tolerate  any  disguise  ;  and  my  mother's 
own  experience  had  now  taught  her  that  Mrs.  Lee  would 
not  be  content  to  leave  to  the  random  call  of  accident  the 
avowal  of  her  principles.  No  passive  or  latent  spirit  of 
freethinking  was  hers  —  headlong  it  was,  uncompromis- 
ing, almost  fierce,  and  regarding  no  restraints  of  place 
or  season.  Like  Shelley,  some  iew  years  later,  whose  day 
she  would  have  gloried  to  welcome,  she  looked  upon  her 
principles  not  only  as  conferring  rights,  but  also  as  im- 
posing duties  of  active  proselytism.  From  this  feature  in 
her  character  it  was  that  my  mother  foresaw  an  instant 
evil,  which  she  urged  Miss  Wesley  to  press  earnestly  on 
her  attention,  viz.,  the  inevitable  alienation  of  all  her  fe- 
male friends.  In  many  parts  of  the  continent  (but  too 
much  we  are  all  in  the  habit  of  calling  by  the  wide  name 
of  "the  continent,"  France,  Germany,  Switzerland,  and 
Belgium)  my  mother  was  aware  that  the  most  flagrant 
proclamation  of  infidelity  would  not  stand  in  the  way  of  a 
woman's  favorable  reception  into  society.  But  in  England, 
at  that  time,  this  was  far  otherwise.  A  display  such  as  Mrs. 
Lee  habitually  forced  upon  people's  attention  would  at 
once  have  the  effect  of  banishing  from  her  house  all 
11 


162  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

women  of  respectability.  She  would  be  thrown  upon  the 
society  of  men  —  bold  and  reckless,  such  as  either  agreed 
with  herself,  or,  being  careless  on  the  whole  subject  of  re- 
ligion, pretended  to  do  so.  Her  income,  though  diminished 
now  by  the  partition  with  Mr.  Lee,  was  still  above  a  thousand 
per  annum  ;  which,  though  trivial  for  any  purpose  of  dis- 
play in  a  place  so  costly  as  London,  was  still  important 
enough  to  gather  round  her  unprincipled  adventurers,  some 
of  whom  might  be  noble  enough  to  obey  no  attraction  but 
that  which  lay  in  her  marble  beauty,  in  her  Athenian  grace 
and  eloquence,  and  the  wild,  impassioned  nature  of  her  ac- 
complishments. By  her  acting,  her  dancing,  her  conversa-. 
tion,  her  musical  improvisations,  she  was  qualified  to  at- 
tract the  most  intellectual  men  ;  but  baser  attractions 
would  exist  for  baser  men  ;  and  my  mother  urged  Miss 
Wesley,  as  one  whom  Mrs.  Lee  admitted  to  her  confidence, 
above  all  things  to  act  upon  her  pride  by  forewarning  her 
that  such  men,  in  the  midst  of  lip  homage  to  her  charms, 
would  be  sure  to  betray  its  hollowncss  by  declining  to  let 
their  wives  and  daughters  visit  her.  Plead  what  excuses 
they  would,  Mrs.  Lee  might  rely  upon  it,  that  the  true 
ground  for  this  insulting  absence  of  female  visitors  would 
be  found  to  lie  in  her  profession  of  infidelity.  This  aliena- 
tion of  female  society  would,  it  was  clear,  be  precipitated 
enormously  by  Mrs.  Lee's  frankness.  A  result  that  might 
by  a  dissembling  policy  have  been  delayed  indefinitely, 
would  now  be  hurried  forward  to  an  immediate  crisis. 
And  in  this  result  went  to  wreck  the  very  best  part  of  Mrs. 
Lee's  securities  against  ruin. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  that  all  the  evil  followed 
which  had  been  predicted,  and  through  the  channels  which 
had  been  predicted.  Some  time  was  required  on  so  vast  a 
stage  as  London  to  publish  the  facts  of  Mrs.  Lee's  free- 
thinking —  that  is,  to  publish  it  as  a  matter  of  systematic 


THE    FEMALE    INFIDEL.  1G3 

purpose.  Many  persons  luid  at  first  made  a  liberal  allow- 
ance for  her,  as  tempted  by  some  momentary  impulse  into 
opinions  that  she  had  not  sufficiently  considered,  and 
might  forget  as  hastily  as  she  had  adopted  them.  But  no 
sooner  was  it  made  known  as  a  settled  fact,  that  she  had 
deliberately  dedicated  her  energies  to  the  interests  of  an 
anti-Christian  system,  and  that  she  hated  Christianity,  than 
the  whole  body  of  her  friends  within  the  pale  of  social 
respectability  fell  away  from  her,  and  forsook  her  house. 
To  them  succeeded  a  clique  of  male  visitors,  some  of  whom 
were  doubtfully  respectable,  and  others  (like  Mr.  Frend, 
memorable  for  his  expulsion  from  Cambridge  on  account 
of  his  public  hostility  to  Trinitarianism)  were  distinguished 
by  a  tone  of  intemperate  defiance  to  the  spirit  of  English 
society.  Thrown  upon  such  a  circle,  and  emancipated 
from  all  that  temper  of  reserve  which  would  have  been  im- 
pressed upon  her  by  habitual  anxiety  for  the  good  opinion 
of  virtuous  and  high-principled  women,  the  poor  lady  was 
tempted  into  an  elopement  with  two  dissolute  brothers  ;  for 
what  ultimate  purpose  on  either  side,  was  never  made 
clear  to  the  public.  Why  a  lady  should  elope  from  her 
own  house,  and  the  protection  of  her  own  servants,  under 
whatever  impulse,  seemed  generally  unintelligible.  But 
apparently  it  was  precisely  this  protection  from  her  own 
servants  which  presented  itself  to  the  brothers  in  the  light 
of  an  obstacle  to  their  objects.  What  these  objects  might 
ultimately  be,  I  do  not  entirely  know  ;  and  I  do  not  feel 
myself  authorized,  by  any  thing  which  of  my  own  knowl- 
edge I  know,  to  load  either  of  them  with  mercenary  im- 
putations. One  of  them  (the  younger)  was,  or  fancied 
himself,  in  love  with  Mrs.  Lee.  It  was  impossible  for  him 
to  marry  her  ;  and  possibly  he  may  have  fancied  that  in 
some  rustic  retirement,  where  the  parties  were  unknown, 
it  would  be  easier  than  in  London  to  appease  the  lady's 


164 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 


scruples  in  respect  to  the  sole  mode  of  connection  which 
the  law  left  open  to  them.  The  frailty  of  the  will  in  Mrs. 
Lee  was  as  manifest  in  this  stage  of  the  case  as  sub- 
sequently, when  she  allowed  herself  to  be  over-clamored 
by  Mr.  Lee  and  his  friends  into  a  capital  prosecution  of 
the  brothers.  After  she  had  once  allowed  herself  to  be 
put  into  a  post  chaise,  she  was  persuaded  to  believe  (and 
such  was  her  ignorance  of  English  society,  that  possibly 
she  did  believe)  herself  through  the  rest  of  the  journey 
liable  at  any  moment  to  summary  coercion  in  the  case  of 
attempting  any  resistance.  The  brothers  and  herself  left 
London  in  the  evening.  Consequently,  it  was  long  after 
midnight  when  the  party  halted  at  a  town  in  Gloucester- 
shire, two  stages  beyond  Oxford.  The  younger  gentleman 
then  persuaded  her,  but  (as  she  alleged)  under  the  impres- 
sion on  her  part  that  resistance  was  unavailing,  and  that 
the  injury  to  her  reputation  was  by  this  time  irreparable,  to 
allow  of  his  coming  to  her  bed  room.  This  was  perhaps 
not  entirely  a  fraudulent  representation  in  Mrs.  Lee.  The 
whole  circumstances  of  the  case  made  it  clear,  that,  with 
any  decided  opening  for  deliverance,  she  would  have 
caught  at  it ;  and  probably  would  again,  from  wavering  of 
mind,  have  dallied  with  the  danger. 

Perhaps  at  this  point,  having  already  in  this  last  para- 
graph shot  ahead  by  some  nine  years  of  the  period  when 
she  visited  Greenhay,  allowing  myself  this  license  in  order 
to  connect  my  mother's  warning  through  Miss  Wesley  with 
the  practical  sequel  of  the  case,  it  may  be  as  well  for  me 
to  pursue  the  arrears  of  the  story  down  to  its  final  incident. 
In  1804,  at  the  Lent  Assizes  for  the  county  of  Oxford,  she 

appeared  as  principal  witness  against  two  brothers,  L 1 

G n,  and  L n  G n,  on  a  capital  charge  of  hav- 
ing forcibly  carried  her  off  from  her  own  house  in  London, 
and  afterwards  of  having,  at  some  place  in  Gloucestershire, 


THE    FEMALE    INFIDEL.  165 

b)  ■Jollusion  willi  each  other  and  by  terror,  enabled  one  of 
tlic  brothers  to  offer  tlie  last  violence  to  her  person.  The 
circumstantial  accounts  published  at  the  time  by  the  news- 
papers were  of  a  nature  to  conciliate  the  public  sympathy 
altogether  to  the  prisoners;  and  the  general  belief  accorded 
with  what  was,  no  doubt,  the  truth  —  that  the  lady  had 
been  driven  into  a  false  accusation  by  the  overpowering 
remonstrances  of  her  friends,  joined,  in  this  instance,  by 
her  husband,  all  of  whom  were  willing  to  believe,  or  will- 
ing to  have  it  believed  by  the  public,  that  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  her  little  acquaintance  with  English  usages. 
I  was  present  at  the  trial.  The  court  was  opened  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  and  such  was  the  interest  in  the 
case,  that  a  mob,  composed  chiefly  of  gownsmen,  besieged 
the  doors  for  some  time  before  the  moment  of  admission. 
On  this  occasion,  by  the  way,  I  witnessed  a  remarkable 
illustration  of  the  profound  obedience  which  Englishmen 
under  all  circumstances  pay  to  the  law.  The  constables, 
for  what  reason  I  do  not  know,  were  very  numerous  and 
very  violent.  Such  of  us  as  happened  to  have  gone  in  our 
academic  dress  had  our  caps  smashed  in  two  by  the  con- 
stables' staves  ;  ?r%,  it  might  be  difficult  for  the  officers  to 
say,  as  none  of  us  were  making  any  tumult,  nor  had  any 
motive  for  doing  so,  unless  by  way  of  retaliation.  Many 
of  these  constables  were  bargemen  or  petty  tradesmen,  who 
in  their  ex-official  character  had  often  been  engaged  in 
rows  with  undergraduates,  and  usually  had  had  the  worst 
of  it.  At  present,  in  the  service  of  the  blindfold  goddess, 
these  equitable  men  were  no  doubt  taking  out  their  ven- 
geance for  past  favors.  But,  under  all  this  wanton  display 
of  violence,  the  gownsmen  practised  the  severest  forbear- 
ance. The  pressure  from  behind  made  it  impossible  to 
forbear  pressing  ahead  ;  crushed,  you  were  obliged  to 
crush ;   but,  beyond  that,  there  was  no  movement  or  ges- 


166  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

ture  on  our  part  to  give  any  colorable  warrant  to  the  bru- 
tality of  the  officers.  For  nearly  a  whole  hour,  I  saw  this 
expression  of  reverence  to  the  law  triumphant  over  all  prov- 
ocations. It  may  be  presumed,  that,  to  prompt  so  nrtuch 
crowding,  there  must  have  been  some  commensurate  inter- 
est. There  was  so,  but  that  interest  was  not  at  all  in  Mrs. 
Lee.  She  was  entirely  unknown ;  and  even  by  reputation 
or  rumor,  from  so  vast  a  wilderness  as  London,  neither  her 
beauty  nor  her  intellectual  pretensions  had  travelled  down 
to  Oxford.  Possibly,  in  each  section  of  300  men,  there 
might  be  one  individual  whom  accident  had  brought  ac- 
quainted, as  it  had  myself,  with  her  extraordinary  endow- 
ments. But  the  general  and  academic  interest  belonged 
exclusively  to  the  accused.  They  were  both  Oxonians  — 
one  belonging  to  University  College,  and  the  other,  per- 
haps, to  Baliol ;  and,  as  they  had  severally  taken  the  de- 
gree of  A.  B.,  which  implies  a  residence  of  at  least  three 
years,  they  were  pretty  extensively  known.  But,  known 
or  not  known  personally,  in  virtue  of  the  esprit  de  corps, 
the  accused  parties  would  have  benefited  in  any  case  by  a 
general  brotherly  interest.  Over  and  above  which,  there 
was  in  this  case  the  interest  attached  to  an  almost  unintelli- 
gible accusation.  A  charge  of  personal  violence,  under  the 
roof  of  a  respectable  English  posting  house,  occupied  al- 
ways by  a  responsible  master  and  mistress,  and  within  call 
at  every  moment  of  numerous  servants,  —  what  could  that 
mean  ?  And,  again,  when  it  became  understood  that  this 
violence  was  alleged  to  have  realized  itself  under  a  delu- 
sion, under  a  preoccupation  of  the  victim's  mind,  that  re- 
sistance to  it  was  hopeless,  how,  and  under  what  profound 
ignorance  of  English  society,  had  such  a  preoccupation 
been  possible  ?  To  the  accused,  and  to  the  incomprehen- 
sible accusation,  therefore,  belonged  the  whole  weight  of 
the    interest ;    and  it  was  a  very  secondary  interest  indeed 


THE    FEMALE    INFIDEL.  167 

and  purely  as  a  reflex  interest  from  the  main  one,  which 
awaited  the  prosecutress.  And  yet,  though  so  Httle  curios- 
ity "  awaited  "  her,  it  happened  of  necessity  that,  within  a 
few  moments  after  her  first  coming  forward  in  the  witness 
box,  she  had  created  a  separate  one  for  herself — first, 
through  her  impressive  appearance  ;  secondly,  through  the 
appalling  coolness  of  her  answers.  The  trial  began,  I 
think,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning;  and,  as  some 
time  was  spent  on  the  examination  of  Mrs.  Lee's  servants, 
of  postilions,  hostlers,  &c.,  in  pursuing  the  traces  of  the  af- 
fair from  London  to  a  place  seventy  miles  north  of  Lon- 
don, it  was  probably  about  eleven  in  the  forenoon  before 
the  prosecutress  was  summoned.  My  heart  throbbed  a 
little  as  the  court  lulled  suddenly  into  the  deep  stillness  of 
expectation,  when  that  summons  w'as  heard :  "  Rachael 
Frances  Antonina  Dashwood  Lee  "  resounded  through  all 
the  passages;  and  immediately  in  an  adjoining  anteroom, 
through  which  she  was  led  by  her  attorney,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  evading  the  mob  that  surrounded  the  public  ap- 
proaches, we  heard  her  advancing  steps.  Pitiable  was  the 
humiliation  expressed  by  her  carriage,  as  she  entered  the 
witness  box.  Pitiable  was  the  change,  the  world  of  dis- 
tance, between  this  faltering  and  dejected  accuser,  and  that 
•wWd  leopardess  that  had  once  worked  her  pleasure  amongst 
the  sheepfolds  of  Christianity,  and  had  cuffed  my  poor 
guardian  so  unrelentingly,  right  and  left,  front  and  rear, 
when  he  attempted  the  feeblest  of  defences.  However, 
she  was  not  long  exposed  to  the  searching  gaze  of  the 
court  and  the  trying  embarrassments  of  her  situation.  A 
single  question  brought  the  whole  investigation  to  a  close 
Mrs.  Lee  had  been  sworn.  After  a  few  questions,  she  was 
suddenly  asked  by  the  counsel  for  the  defence  whether  she 
believed  in  the  Christian  religion  ?  Her  answer  was  brief 
and   peremptory,  without  distinction   or  circumlocution  — 


168  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES 

No.  Or,  perhaps,  not  in  God  ?  Again  she  repUed,  No . 
and  again  her  answer  was  prompt  and  sans  j^hrase.  Upon 
this  the  judge  declared  that  he  could  not  permit  the  trial  to 
proceed.  The  jury  had  heard  what  the  witness  said  :  she 
only  could  give  evidence  upon  the  capital  part  of  the 
charge  ;  and  she  had  openly  incapacitated  herself  before 
the  whole  court.  The  jury  instantly  acquitted  the  prison- 
ers. In  the  course  of  the  day  I  left  my  name  at  Mrs.  Lee's 
lodgings ;  but  her  servant  assured  me  that  she  was  too 
much  agitated  to  see  any  body  till  the  evening.  At  the 
hour  assigned  I  called  again.  It  was  dusk,  and  a  mob  had 
assembled.  At  the  moment  I  came  up  to  the  door,  a  lady 
was  issuing,  muffled  up,  and  in  some  measure  disguised. 
It  was  Mrs.  Lee.  At  the  corner  of  an  adjacent  street  a 
post  chaise  was  drawn  up.  Towards  this,  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  attorney  who  had  managed  her  case,  she 
made  her  way  as  eagerly  as  possible.  Before  she  could 
reach  it,  however,  she  was  detected  ;  a  savage  howl  was 
raised,  and  a  rush  made  to  seize  her.  Fortunately,  a  body 
of  gownsmen  formed  round  her,  so  as  to  secure  her  from 
personal  assault :  they  put  her  rapidly  into  the  carriage ; 
and  then,  joining  the  mob  in  their  hootings,  sent  off  the 
horses  at  a  gallop.  Such  was  the  mode  of  her  exit  from 
Oxford. 

Subsequently  to  this  painful  collision  with  Mrs.  Lee  at 
the  Oxford  Assizes,  I  heard  nothing  of  her  for  many  years, 
excepting  only  this  —  that  she  was  residing  in  the  family 
of  an  English  clergyman  distinguished  for  his  learning  and 
piety.  This  account  gave  great  pleasure  to  my  mother — 
not  only  as  implying  some  chance  that  Mrs.  Lee  might  be 
finally  reclaimed  from  her  unhappy  opinions,  but  also  as  a 
proof  that,  in  submitting  to  a  rustication  so  mortifying  to  a 
woman  of  her  brilliant  qualifications,  she  must  have  fallen 
under  some  influences  more  promising  for  her  respectabil- 


THE    FEMALE    INFIDEL.  169 

ity  and  happiness  than  those  which  hud  surrounded  her  in 
London.  Finally,  we  saw  by  the  public  journals  that  she 
had  written  and  published  a  book.  The  title  I  forget ;  but 
by  its  subject  it  was  connected  with  political  or  social  phi- 
losophy. And  one  eminent  testimony  to  its  merit  I  myself 
am  able  to  allege,  viz.,  Wordsworth's.  Singular  enough  it 
seems,  that  he  who  read  so  very  little  of  modern  literature, 
in  fact,  next  to  nothing,  should  be  the  sole  critic  and  re- 
porter whom  I  have  happened  to  meet  upon  Mrs.  Lee's 
work.  But  so  it  was  :  accident  had  thrown  the  book  in  his 
way  during  one  of  his  annual  visits  to  London,  and  a  sec- 
ond time  at  Lowther  Castle.  He  paid  to  Mrs.  Lee  a  com- 
pliment which  certainly  he  paid  to  no  other  of  her  contem- 
poraries, viz.,  that  of  reading  her  book  very  nearly  to  the 
end  ;  and  he  spoke  of  it  repeatedly  as  distinguished  for  vig- 
or and  originality  of  thought. 


CHAPTER    V. 

I    AM    INTRODUCED    TO    THE    "WARFARE    OF    A 
PUBLIC    SCHOOL. 

Four  years  after  my  father's  death,  it  began  to  be  per- 
ceived that  there  was  no  purpose  to  be  answered  in  any 
longer  keeping  up  the  costly  establishment  of  Greenhay. 
A  head  gardener,  besides  laborers  equal  to  at  least  two 
more,  were  required  for  the  grounds  and  gardens.  And 
no  motive  existed  any  longer  for  being  near  to  a  great 
trading  town,  so  long  after  the  commercial  connection  with 
it  had  ceased.  Bath  seemed,  on  all  accounts,  the  natural 
station  for  a  person  in  my  mother's  situation ;  and  thither, 
accordingly,  she  went.  I,  who  had  been  placed  under  the 
tuition  of  one  of  my  guardians,  remained  some  time  longer 
under  his  care.  I  was  then  transferred  to  Bath.  During 
this  interval  the  sale  of  the  house  and  grounds  took  place 
It  may  illustrate  the  subject  of  guardianship,  and  the  or- 
dinary execution  of  its  duties,  to  mention  the  result.  The 
year  was  in  itself  a  year  of  great  depression,  and  every 
way  unfavorable  to  such  a  transaction;  and  the  particular 
night  for  which  the  sale  had  been  fixed  turned  out  remark- 
ably wet ;  yet  no  attempt  was  made  to  postpone  it,  and  it 
proceeded.      Originally  the   house   and   grounds  had  cost 

170 


WARFARE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  171 

about  ofGOOO.  I  have  heard  that  only  one  offer  was  made, 
viz.,  of  c£2500.  Be  that  as  it  may,  for  tlie  sum  of  .€2500 
it  was  sold  ;  and  I  have  been  often  assured  that,  by  waiting 
a  few  years,  four  to  six  times  that  sum  might  have  been 
obtained  with  ease.  This  is  not  improbable,  as  the  house 
was  then  out  in  the  country  ;  but  since  then  the  town  of 
Manchester  has  gathered  round  it  and  enveloped  it.  Mean- 
time, my  guardians  were  all  men  of  honor  and  integrity  ; 
but  their  hands  were  filled  with  their  own  affairs.  One 
(my  tutor)  was  a  clergyman,  rector  of  a  church,  and 
having  his  parish,  his  large  family,  and  three  pupils  to 
attend.  He  was,  besides,  a  very  sedentary  and  indolent 
man  —  loving  books,  hating  business.  Another  was  a  mer- 
chant. A  third  was  a  country  magistrate,  overladen  with 
official  business  :  him  we  rarely  saw.  Finally,  the  fourth 
was  a  banker  in  a  distant  county,  having  more  knowledge 
of  the  world,  more  energy,  and  more  practical  wisdom 
than  all  the  rest  united,  but  too  remote  for  interfering 
effectually. 

Reflecting  upon  the  evils  which  befell  me,  and  the  gross 
mismanagement,  under  my  guardians,  of  my  small  fortune, 
and  that  of  my  brothers  and  sisters,  it  has  often  occurred  to 
me  that  so  important  an  office,  which,  from  the  time  of  De- 
mosthenes, has  been  proverbially  maladministered,  ought 
to  be  put  upon  a  new  footing,  plainly  guarded  by  a  few  ob- 
vious provisions.  As  under  the  Roman  laws,  for  a  long 
period,  the  guardian  should  be  made  responsible  in  law, 
and  should  give  security  from  the  first  for  the  due  perform- 
ance of  his  duties.  But,  to  give  him  a  motive  for  doing 
this,  of  course  he  must  be  paid.  With  the  new  obligations 
and  liabiUiies  will  commence  commensurate  emoluments. 
If  a  child  is  made  a  ward  in  Chancery,  its  property  is  man- 
aged expensively,  but  always  advantageously.  Some  great 
change  is  imperatively  called  for  —  no  duty  in  the  whole 


172  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES 

compass  of  human   life  being  so  scandalously  treated  as 
this. 

In  my  twelfth  year  it  was  that  first  of  all  I  entered  upon 
the  arena  of  a  great  public  school,  viz.,  the  Grammar 
School  *  of  Bath,  over  which  at  that  time  presided  a  most 
accomplished  Etonian  —  Mr.  (or  was  he  as  yet  Doctor  ?) 
Morgan.  If  he  was  not,  I  am  sure  he  ought  to  have  been  ; 
and,  with  the  reader's  concurrence,  will  therefore  create 
him   a  doctor  on   the  spot.      Every    man    has  reason   to 

*  "  Grammar  iSc/ioo/." — By  the  way,  as  the  grammar  schools  of 
England  are  amongst  her  most  eminent  distinctions,  and,  with  sub- 
mission to  the  innumerable  wretches  (gentlemen  I  should  say)  that 
bate  England  "worse  than  toad  or  asp,"  have  never  been  rivalled  by 
any  corresponding  institutions  in  other  lands,  I  may  as  well  take  this 
opportunity  of  explaining  the  word  grammar,  which  most  people  mis- 
apprehend. Men  suppose  a  grammar  school  to  mean  a  school  where 
they  teach  grammar.  But  this  is  not  the  true  meaning,  and  tends  to 
calumniate  such  schools  by  ignoring  their  highest  functions.  Limit- 
ing by  a  false  limitation  the  earliest  object  contemplated  by  such 
schools,  they  obtain  a  plausible  pretext  for  representing  all  beyond 
grammar  as  something  extraneous  and  casual  that  did  not  enter  into 
the  original  or  normal  conception  of  the  founders,  and  that  may 
therefore  have  been  due  to  alien  suggestion.  But  now,  when  Sueto- 
nius writes  a  little  book,  bearing  this  title,  "  De  Illustribus  Gramma- 
ticis,"  what  does  he  mean  ?  What  is  it  that  he  promises  1  A  memoir 
upon  the  eminent  grammarians  of  Rome  ?  Not  at  all,  but  a  memoir 
upon  the  distinguished  literati  of  Rome.  Grammatica  does  certainly 
mean  sometimes  grammar;  but  it  is  also  the  best  Latin  word  for  liter- 
ature. A  grammaticiis  is  what  the  French  express  by  the  word  litte- 
rateur. We  unfortunately  have  no  corresponding  term  in  English : 
a  man  of  letters  is  our  awkward  periphrasis  in  the  singular,  (too  apt, 
as  our  jest  books  remind  us,  to  suggest  the  postman  ;)  whilst  in  the 
plural  we  resort  to  the  Latin  word  literati.  The  school  which  pro- 
fesses to  teach  grammatica,  professes,  therefore,  the  culture  of  litera- 
ture in  the  widest  and  most  liberal  extent,  and  is  opposed  generically 
to  schools  for  teaching  mechanic  arts  ;  and,  within  its  own  sub-genus 
of  schools  dedicated  to  liberal  objects,  is  opposed  to  schools  for  teaching 
mathematics,  or,  more  widely,  to  schools  for  teaching  science. 


WARFARE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  173 

rejoice  who  enjoys  the  advantage  of  a  public  training.  I 
condemned,  and  do  condemn,  the  practice  of  sending  out 
into  such  stormy  exposures  those  who  are  as  yet  too  young, 
too  dependent  on  female  gentleness,  and  endowed  with  sen- 
sibilities originally  too  exquisite  for  such  a  warfare.  But 
at  nine  or  ten  the  masculine  energies  of  the  character  are 
beginning  to  develop  themselves  ;  or,  if  not,  no  discipline 
will  better  aid  in  their  development  than  the  bracing  inter- 
course of  a  great  English  classical  school.  Even  the  self- 
ish are  there  forced  into  accommodating  themselves  to  a 
public  standard  of  generosity,  and  the  effeminate  in  con- 
forming to  a  rule  of  manliness.  I  was  myself  at  two  pub- 
lic schools,  and  I  think  with  gratitude  of  the  benefits  which 
I  reaped  from  both  ;  as  also  I  think  with  gratitude  of  that 
guardian  in  whose  quiet  household  I  learned  Latin  so  effect- 
ually. But  the  small  private  schools,  of  which  I  had  op- 
portunities for  gathering  some  brief  experience,  —  schools 
containing  thirty  to  forty  boys,  —  were  models  of  ignoble 
manners  as  regarded  part  of  the  juniors,  and  of  favoritism 
as  regarded  the  masters.  Nowhere  is  the  sublimity  of  pub- 
lic justice  so  broadly  exemplified  as  in  an  English  public 
school  on  the  old  Edward  the  Sixth  or  Elizabeth  foundation. 
There  is  not  in  the  universe  such  an  Areopagus  for  fair 
play,  and  abhorrence  of  all  crooked  ways,  as  an  English 
mob,  or  one  of  the  time-honored  English  "  foundation  " 
schools.  But  my  own  first  introduction  to  such  an  estab- 
lishment was  under  peculiar  and  contradictory  circum- 
stances. When  my  "  rating,"  or  graduation  in  the  school,  was 
to  be  settled,  naturally  my  altitude  (to  speak  astronomical- 
ly) was  taken  by  my  proficiency  in  Greek.  But  here  I 
had  no  advantage  over  others  of  ray  age.  My  guardian 
was  a  feeble  Grecian,  and  had  not  excited  my  ambition  ; 
so  that  I  could  barely  construe  books  as  easy  as  the  Greek 
Testament  and  the  Iliad.     This  was  considered  quite  well 


174  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

enough  for  my  age  ;  but  still  it  caust.'d  me  to  be  placed  under 
the  care  of  Mr.  VVilkins,  the  second  master  out  of  four,  and 
not  under  Dr.  Morgan  himself.  Within  one  month,  how- 
ever, my  talent  for  Latin  verses,  which  had  by  this  time 
gathered  strength  and  expansion,  became  known.  Sud- 
denly I  was  honored  as  never  was  man  or  boy  since  Mor- 
decai  the  Jew.  Without  any  colorable  relation  to  tlie  doc- 
tor's jurisdiction,  I  was  now  weekly  paraded  for  distinction 
at  the  supreme  tribunal  of  the  school  ;  out  of  which,  at 
first,  grew  nothing  but  a  sunshine  of  approbation  delightful 
to  my  heart.  Within  six  weeks  all  this  had  changed.  The 
approbation  indeed  continued,  and  the  public  expression  of 
it.  Neither  would  there,  in  the  ordinary  course,  have  been 
any  painful  reaction  from  jealousy,  or  fretful  resistance,  to 
the  soundness  of  my  pretensions  ;  since  it  was  sufficiently 
known  to  such  of  my  school-fellows  as  stood  on  my  own 
level  in  the  school,  that  I,  who  had  no  male  relatives  but 
military  men,  and  those  in  India,  could  not  have  benefited 
by  any  clandestine  aid.  But,  unhappily,  Dr.  Morgan  was 
at  that  time  dissatisfied  with  some  points  in  the  progress  of 
his  head  class  ;  *  and,  as  it  soon  appeared,  was  continually 
throwing  in  their  teeth  the  brilliancy  of  my  verses  at 
eleven  or  twelve,  by  comparison  with  theirs  at  seventeen, 
eighteen,  and  even  nineteen.  I  had  observed  him  some- 
times pointing  to  myself,  and  was  perplexed  at  seeing  this 
gesture  followed  by  gloomy  looks,  and  what  French  report- 
ers call  "  sensation,"  in  these  young  men,  whom  naturally 
I  viewed  with  awe  as  my  leaders  —  boys  that  were  called 
young  men,  men  that  were  reading  Sophocles,  (a  name  that 
carried  with  it  the  sound  of  something  seraphic  to  my 
ears,)  and  who  had  never  vouchsafed  to  waste  a  word  on 

*  "  Class"  or  "form."  —  One  knows  not  how  to  make  one's  self 
intelligible,  so  different  are  the  terms  locally. 


WARFARE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  175 

such  a  child  as  myself.  Thn  day  was  come,  however, 
when  all  that  would  be  changed.  One  of  these  leadere 
strode  up  to  me  in  the  public  playground,  and,  delivering 
a  blow  on  my  shoulder,  which  was  not  intended  to  hurt  me 
but  as  a  mere  formula  of  introduction,  asked  me  "what 
the  devil  I  meant  by  bolting  out  of  the  course,  and  annoy- 
ing other  people  in  that  manner.  Were  '  other  people  '  to 
have  no  rest  for  me  and  my  verses,  which,  after  all,  were 
horribly  bad  ?  "  There  might  have  been  some  difficulty 
in  returning  an  answer  to  this  address,  but  none  was  re- 
quired.    I  was  briefly  admonished  to  see  that  I  wrote  worse 

for  the  future,  or  else .     At  this  aposiopesis  I  looked 

inquiringly  at  the  speaker,  and  he  filled  up  the  chasm  by 
saying  that  he  would  "  annihilate  "  me.  Could  any  per- 
son fail  to  be  aghast  at  such  a  demand  ?  I  was  to  write 
worse  than  my  own  standard,  which,  by  his  account  of  my 
verses,  must  be  difficult ;  and  I  was  to  write  worse  than 
himself,  which  might  be  impossible.  My  feelings  revolted 
against  so  arrogant  a  demand,  unless  it  had  been  far  other- 
wise expressed  ;  if  death  on  the  spot  had  awaited  me,  I 
could  not  have  controlled  myself ;  and  on  the  next  occa- 
sion for  sending  up  verses  to  the  head  master,  so  far  from 
attending  to  the  orders  issued,  I  double-shotted  my  guns  ; 
double  applause  descended  on  myself;  but  I  remarked 
with  some  awe,  though  not  repenting  of  what  I  had  done, 
that  double  confusion  seemed  to  agitate  the  ranks  of  my 
enemies.  Amongst  them  loomed  out  in  the  distance  my 
"  annihilating"  friend,  who  shook  his  huge  fist  at  me,  but 
with  something  like  a  grim  smile  about  his  eyes.  He  took 
an  early  opportunity  of  paying  his  respects  to  me  again, 
saying,  "  You  little  devil,  do  you  call  this  writing  your 
worst?"  "  No,"  I  replied;  "I  call  it  writing  my  best." 
The  annihilator,  as  it  turned  out,  was  really  a  good-natured 
young  man ;  but  he  was  on  the  wing  for  Cambridge  ;  and 


176  AtrXOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

with  the  rest,  or  some  of  them,  I  continued  to  wage  war  for 
more  than  a  year.  And  yet,  for  a  word  spoken  with  kind- 
ness, how  readily  I  would  have  resigned  (had  it  been  alto- 
gether at  my  own  choice  to  do  so)  the  peacock's  feather  in 
my  cap  as  the  merest  of  bawbles.  Undoubtedly,  praise 
sounded  sweet  in  my  ears  also ;  but  that  was  nothing  by 
comparison  with  what  stood  on  the  other  side.  I  detested 
distinctions  that  were  connected  with  mortification  to  others  ; 
and,  even  if  I  could  have  got  over  that^  the  eternal  feud 
fretted  and  tormented  my  nature.  Love,  that  once  in  child- 
hood had  been  so  mere  a  necessity  to  me,  that  had  long 
been  a  reflected  ray  from  a  departed  sunset.  But  peace, 
and  freedom  from  strife,  if  love  were  no  longer  possible, 
(as  so  rarely  it  is  in  this  world,)  was  the  clamorous  neces- 
sity of  my  nature.  To  contend  with  somebody  was  still 
my  fate ;  how  to  escape  the  contention  I  could  not  see  ; 
and  yet,  for  itself,  and  for  the  deadly  passions  into  which  it 
forced  me,  I  hated  and  loathed  it  more  than  death.  It  add- 
ed to  the  distraction  and  internal  feud  of  my  mind,  that  I 
could  not  aUogelher  condemn  the  upper  boys.  I  was  made 
a  handle  of  humiliation  to  them.  And,  in  the  mean  time, 
if  I  had  an  undeniable  advantage  in  one  solitary  accom- 
plishment, which  is  all  a  matter  of  accident,  or  sometimes 
of  peculiar  direction  given  to  the  taste,  they,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  a  gi-eat  advantage  over  me  in  the  more  elaborate 
difficulties  of  Greek  and  of  choral  Greek  poetry.  I  could 
not  altogether  wonder  at  their  hatred  of  myself.  Yet  still, 
as  they  had  chosen  to  adopt  this  mode  of  conflict  with  me, 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  had  any  choice  but  to  resist.  The  con- 
test was  terminated  for  me  by  my  removal  from  the  school, 
in  consequence  of  a  very  threatening  illness  affecting  my 
head  ;  but  it  lasted  more  than  a  year,  and  it  did  not  close 
before  several  among  my  public  enemies  had  become  my 
nnvate  friends.     They  were  much  older,  but  they  invited 


WARFARE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  177 

me  to  the  houses  of  their  friends,  and  showed  me  a  respect 
which  affected  me  —  this  respect  having  more  reference 
apparently,  to  the  firmness  I  had  exhibited,  than  to  any 
splendor  in  my  verses.  And,  indeed,  these  had  rather 
drooped  from  a  natural  accident  ;  several  persons  of  my 
own  class  had  formed  the  practice  of  asking  me  to  write 
verses  for  thein.  I  could  not  refuse.  But,  as  the  subjects 
given  out  were  the  same  for  the  entire  class,  it  was  not  pos- 
sible to  take  so  many  crops  off  the  ground  without  starving 
the  quality  of  all. 

The  most  interesting  public  event  which,  during  my  stay 
at  this  school,  at  all  connected  itself  with  Bath,  and  indeed 
with  the  school  itself,  was  the  sudden  escape  of  Sir  Sidney 
Smith  from  the  prison  of  the  Temple  in  Pai'is.  The  mode 
of  his  escape  was  as  striking  as  its  time  was  critical.  Hav- 
ing accidently  thrown  a  ball  beyond  the  prison  bounds  in 
playing  at  tennis,  or  some  such  game,  Sir  Sidney  was  sur- 
prised to  observe  that  the  ball  thrown  back  was  not  the 
same.  Fortunately,  he  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  dis- 
semble his  sudden  surprise.  He  retired,  examined  the 
ball,  found  it  stuffed  with  letters  ;  and,  in  the  same  way,  he 
subsequently  conducted  a  long  correspondence,  and  ar- 
ranged the  whole  circumstances  of  his  escape  ;  which,  re- 
markably enough,  was  accomplished  exactly  eight  days 
before  the  sailing  of  Napoleon  with  the  Egyptian  expedi- 
tion ;  so  that  Sir  Sidney  was  just  in  time  to  confront,  and 
utterly  to  defeat,  Napoleon  in  the  breach  of  Acre.  But 
for  Sir  Sidney,  Bonaparte  would  have  overrun  Syria,  that 
is  certain.  What  would  have  followed  from  that  event  is 
a  far  more  obscure  problem. 

Sir  Sidney  Smith,  I  must  explain  to  readers  of  this  gen- 
eration, and  Sir  Edward  Pellew,  (afterwards  Lord  Ex- 
mouth,)  figured  as  the  two  *  Paladins  of  the  fii'st  war  with 

*  To  them  in  the  next  stage  of   the  war  succeeded  Sir  Michael 
12 


178  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC  SKETCHES. 

revolutionary  France.  Rarely  were  these  two  names  men- 
tioned but  in  connection  with  some  splendid,  prosperous, 
and  unequal  contest.  Hence  the  whole  nation  was  sad- 
dened by  the  account  of  Sir  Sidney's  capture  ;  and  this 
must  be  understood,  in  order  to  make  the  joy  of  his  sudden 
return  perfectly  intelligible.  Not  even  a  rumor  of  Sir 
Sidney's  escape  had  or  could  have  run  before  him  ;  for,  at 
the  moment  of  reaching  the  coast  of  England,  he  had 
started  with  post  horses  to  Bath.  It  was  about  dusk  when 
he  arrived :  the  postilions  were  directed  to  the  square  in 
which  his  mother  lived  :  in  a  few  minutes  he  was  in  his 
motlier's  arms,  and  in  fifty  minutes  more  the  news  had 
flown  to  the  remotest  suburb  of  the  city.  The  agitation  of 
Bath  on  this  occasion  was  indescribable.  All  the  troops 
of  the  line  then  quartered  in  that  city,  and  a  whole  regi- 
ment of  volunteers,  immediately  got  under  arms,  and 
marched  to  the  quarter  in  which  Sir  Sidney  lived.  The 
small  square  overflowed  with  the  soldiery ;  Sir  Sidney 
went  out,  and  was  immediately  lost  to  us,  who  were  watch- 
ing for  him,  in  the  closing  ranks  of  the  troops.  Next 
morning,  however,  I,  my  younger  brother,  and  a  school- 
fellow of  my  own  age,  called  formally  upon  the  naval  hero. 
Why,  I  know  not,  unless  as  alumni  of  the  school  at  which 
Sir  Sidney  Smith  had  received  his  own  education,  we  were 
admitted  without  question  or  demur  ;  and  I  may  record  it 
as  an  amiable  trait  in  Sir  Sidney,  that  he  received  us  then 
with  great  kindness,  and  took  us  down  with  him  to  the 
pump    room.     Considering,  however,  that   we    must  have 

Seymour,  and  Lord  Cochrane,  (the  present  Earl  of  Dundonald.)  and 
Lord  Camelford.  The  two  last  were  the  reguhir  fireeaters  of  the 
day.  Sir  Horatio  Nelson  being  already  an  admiral,  was  no  longer 
looked  to  for  insulated  exjiloits  of  brilliant  adventure :  his  name  was 
now  conne(  ted  with  larger  and  combined  attacks,  less  dashing  and  ad- 
venturous, because  including  heavier  resijousibilities. 


■WAKFAKE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  17^ 

been  most  afflicting  bores  to  Sir  Sidney,  —  a  fact  which  no 
self-esteem  could  even  then  disguise  from  us,  —  it  puzzled 
me  at  first  to  understand  the  principle  of  his  conduct. 
Having  already  done  more  than  enough  in  courteous  ac- 
knowledgment of  our  fraternal  claims  as  fellow-students 
at  the  Bath  Grammar  School,  why  should  he  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  burden  himself  further  with  our  worshipful 
society  ?  I  found  out  the  secret,  and  will  explain  it.  A 
very  slight  attention  to  Sir  Sidney's  deportment  in  public 
revealed  to  me  that  he  was  morbidly  afflicted  with  nervous 
sensibility  and  with  mauvaise  honte.  He  that  had  faced  so 
cheerfully  crowds  of  hostile  and  threatening  eyes,  could 
not  support  without  trepidation  those  gentle  eyes,  beaming 
with  gracious  admiration,  of  his  fair  young  countrywomen. 
By  accident,  at  that  moment  Sir  Sidney  had  no  acquaint 
ances  in  Bath,*  a  fact  which  is  not  at  all  to  be  wondered 
at.  Living  so  much  abi'oad  and  at  sea,  an  English  sailor, 
of  whatever  rank,  has  fe\y  opportunities  for  making  friends 
at  home.  And  yet  there  was  a  necessity  that  Sir  Sidney 
should  gratify  the  public  interest,  so  warmly  expressed,  by 
presenting  himself  somewhere  or  other  to  the  public  eye. 
But  how  ti-ying  a  service  to  the  most  practised  and  other- 
wise most  callous  veteran  on  such  an  occasion,  that  he 
should  step  forward,  saying  in  effect,  "  So  you  are  want- 
ing to  see  me:  well,  then,  here  I  am:  come  and  look  at 
me  !  "  Put  it  into  what  language  you  please,  such  a  sum- 
mons was  written  on  all  faces,  and  countersigned  by  his 
worship  the  mayor,  who  began  to  whisper  insinuations  of 
riots  if  Sir  Sidney  did  not  comply.  Yet,  if  he  did,  inevi- 
tably his  own  act  of  obedience  to  the  public  pleasure  took 
the  shape   ^f  an  ostentatious  self-parading  under  the  con- 

*  Lord  Camelford  was,  I  believe,  his  first  cousin ;  Sir  Sidney's 
mother  and  Lady  Camelford  being  sisters.  But  Lord  Camelford  was 
then  absent  from  Bath. 


,180  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

struction  of  those  numerous  persons  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  pubh'c  importunity,  or  of  Sir  Sidney's  unaffected  and 
even  morbid  reluctance  to  obtrude  himself  upon  the  public 
eye.  The  thing  was  unavoidable ;  and  the  sole  palliation 
that  it  admhted  was  —  to  break  the  concenti'ation  of  the 
public  gaze,  by  associating  Sir  Sidney  with  some  alien 
group,  no  matter  of  what  cattle.  Such  a  group  would 
relieve  both  parties — gazer  and  gazee  —  from  too  dis- 
tressing a  consciousness  of  the  little  business  on  which  they 
had  met.  We,  the  schoolboys,  being  three,  intercepted  and 
absorbed  part  of  the  enemy's  fire,  and,  by  furnishing  Sir 
Sidney  with  real  bona  fide  matter  of  conversation,  we  re- 
leased him  from  the  most  distressing  part  of  his  suffer- 
ings, viz.,  the  passive  and  silent  acquiescence  in  his  own 
apotheosis  —  holding  a  lighted  candle,  as  it  were,  to  the 
glorification  of  his  own  shrine.  With  our  help,  he  weathered 
the  storm  of  homage  silently  ascending.  And  we,  in  fact, 
whilst  seeming  to  ourselves  too  undeniably  a  triad  of  bores, 
turned  out  the  most  serviceable  allies  that  Sir  Sidney  ever 
had  by  land  or  sea,  until  several  moons  later,  when  he 
formed  the  invaluable  acquaintance  of  the  Syrian  "  butch- 
er," viz.,  Djezzar,  the  Pacha  of  Acre.  I  record  this  little  trait 
of  Sir  Sidney's  constitutional  temperament,  and  the  little 
service  through  which  I  and  my  two  comrades  contributed 
materially  to  his  relief,  as  an  illustration  of  that  infirmity 
which  besieges  the  nervous  system  of  our  nation.  It  is  a 
sensitiveness  which  sometimes  amounts  to  lunacy,  and 
sometimes  even  tempts  to  suicide.  It  is  a  mistake,  how- 
ever, to  suppose  this  morbid  affection  unknown  to  French- 
men, or  unknown  to  men  of  the  world.  I  have  myself 
known  it  to  exist  in  both,  and  particularly  in  a  man  that 
might  be  said  to  live  in  the  street,  such  was  the  American 
publicity  which  circumstances  threw  around  his  life;  and 
so  far  were  his  habits  of  life  removed  from   reserve,  or 


WARFARE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  181 

from  any  iredisposhion  to  gloom.  And  at  this  moment  I 
recall  a  remarkable  illustration  of  what  1  am  saying,  com- 
municated by  Wordsworth's  accomplished  friend, Sir  George 
Beaumont.  To  liim  I  had  been  sketching  the  distressing 
sensitiveness  of  Sir  Sidney  pretty  much  as  I  have  sketched 
it  to  the  reader ;  and  how  he,  the  man  that  on  the  breach 
at  Acre  valued  not  the  eye  of  Jew,  Christian,  or  Turk, 
shrank  back  —  me  ipso  teste  —  from  the  gentle,  though 
eager — from  the  admiring,  yet  affectionate  —  glances  of 
three  very  young  ladies  in  Gay  Street,  Bath,  the  oldest  (1 
should  say)  not  more  than  seventeen.  Upon  which  Sir 
George  mentioned,  as  a  parallel  experience  of  his  own, 
that  Mr.  Canning,  being  ceremoniously  introduced  to  him- 
self (Sir  George)  about  the  time  when  he  had  reached  the 
meridian  of  his  fame  as  an  orator,  and  should  therefore 
liave  become  hlase  to  the  extremity  of  being  absolutely 
seared  and  case-hardened  against  all  impressions  whatever 
appealing  to  his  vanity  or  egotism,  did  absolutely  (credite 
jwsteri ! )  blush  like  any  roseate  girl  of  fifteen.  And  that 
this  was  no  accident  growing  out  of  a  momentary  agitation, 
no  sudden  spasmodic  pang,  anomalous  and  transitory,  ap- 
peared from  other  concurrent  anecdotes  of  Canning,  re- 
ported by  gentlemen  from  Liverpool,  who  described  to  us 
most  graphically  and  picturesquely  the  wayward  fitfulness 
(not  coquettish,  or  wilful,  but  nervously  overmastei'ing  and 
most  unaffectedly  distressing)  which  besieged  this  great  ar- 
tist in  oratory,  as  the  time  approached  —  was  coming  — 
was  going,  at  which  the  private  signal  should  have  been 
shown  for  proposing  his  health.  Mr.  P.  (who  had  been,  I 
think,  the  mayor  on  the  particular  occasion  indicated)  de- 
scribed the  restlessness  of  his  manner ;  how  he  rose,  and 
retired  for  half  a  minute  into  a  little  parlor  behind  the 
chairman's  seat ;  then  came  back ;  then  whispered.  Not 
yet,  I  beseech  you  ;  I  cannot  face  them  yet ;  then  sipped  a 


182  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

little  water,  then  moved  uneasily  on  his  chair,  saying,  One 
moment^  if  you  please  :  stop,  stop  :  don't  hurry  :  one  mo- 
ment, and  I  shall  be  up  to  the  mark :  in  short,  fighting  with 
the  necessity  of  taking  the  final  plunge,  like  one  who  lin- 
gers on  the  scafTuld. 

Sir  Sidney  was  at  that  time  slender  and  thin ;  having  an 
appearance  of  emaciation,  as  though  he  had  suffered  hard- 
ships and  ill  treatment,  which,  however,  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  heard.  Meantime,  his  appearance,  connected  with 
his  recent  history,  made  him  a  very  interesting  person  to 
women ;  and  to  this  hour  it  remains  a  mystery  with  me, 
why  and  how  it  came  about,  that  in  every  distribution  of 
honors  Sir  Sidney  Smith  was  overlooked.  In  the  Mediter- 
ranean he  made  many  enemies,  especially  amongst  those 
of  his  own  profession,  who  used  to  speak  of  him  as  far  too 
fine  a  gentleman,  and  above  his  calling.  Certain  it  is  that 
he  liked  better  to  be  doing  business  on  shore,  as  at  Acre, 
although  he  commanded  a  fine  80  gun  ship,  the  Tiger. 
But  however  that  may  have  been,  his  services,  whether 
classed  as  military  or  naval,  were  memorably  splendid. 
And,  at  that  time,  his  connection,  of  whatsoever  nature, 
with  the  late  Queen  Caroline  had  not  occurred.  So  that 
altogether,  to  me,  his  case  is  inexplicable. 

From  the  Bath  Grammar  School  I  was  removed,  in  con- 
sequence of  an  accident,  by  which  at  first  it  was  supposed 
that  my  skull  had  been  fractured  ;  and  the  surgeon  who  at- 
tended me  at  one  time  talked  of  trepanning.  This  was  an 
awful  werd  ;  but  at  present  I  doubt  whether  in  reality  any 
thing  very  serious  had  happened.  In  fact,  I  was  always 
under  a  nervous  panic  for  my  head,  and  certainly  exag- 
gerated my  internal  feelings  without  meaning  to  do  so ; 
and  this  misled  the  medical  attendants.  During  a  long 
illness  which  succeeded,  my  mother,  amongst  other  books 
past  all  counting,  read  to  me,  in  Hoole's  translation,  the 


WARFARE    OF    A    PUBLIC    SCHOOL.  183 

whole  of  the  "Orlando  Furioso;"  meaning  by  the  whole 
the  entire  twenty-four  books  into  wliich  Hoole  had  con- 
densed the  original  forty-six  of  Ariosto ;  and,  from  my  own 
experience  at  that  time,  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  the 
homeliness  of  this  version  is  an  advantage,  from  not  calling 
off  the  attention  at  all  from  the  narration  to  the  narrator. 
At  this  time  also  I  first  read  the  "  Paradise  Lost ; "  but, 
oddly  enough,  in  the  edition  of  Bentley,  that  great  nuqa- 
SloqBmttjs,  (or  pseudo-restorer  of  the  text.)  At  the  close  of 
my  illness,  the  head  master  called  upon  my  mother,  in 
company  with  his  son-in-law,  Mr.  Wilkins,  as  did  a  certain 
Irish  Colonel  Bowes,  who  had  sons  at  the  school,  request- 
ing earnestly,  in  terms  most  flattering  to  myself,  that  I 
might  be  suffered  to  remain  there.  But  it  illustrates  my 
mother's  moral  austerity,  that  she  was  shocked  at  my  hear- 
ing compliments  to  my  own  merits,  and  was  altogether  dis- 
turbed at  what  doubtless  these  gentlemen  expected  to  see 
received  with  maternal  pride.  She  declined  to  let  me  con- 
tinue at  the  Bath  School ;  and  I  went  to  another,  at  Wink- 
field,  in  the  county  of  Wilts,  of  which  the  chief  recommen- 
dation lay  in  the  religious  character  of  the  master. 


CHAPTER    VI. 
I    ENTER    THE    WORLD. 

Yes,  at  this  stage  of  my  life,  viz.,  in  my  fifteenth  year 
and  from  this  sequestered  school,  ankle  deep  I  first  stepped 
into  the  world.  At  Winkfield  I  had  staid  about  a  year,  or 
not  much  more,  when  I  received  a  letter  from  a  young 
friend  of  my  own  age,  Lord  Westport,*  the  son  of  Lord 
Altamont,  inviting  me  to  accompany  him  to  Ireland  for  the 
ensuing  summer  and  autumn.  This  invitation  was  repeat- 
ed by  his  tutor ;  and  my  mother,  after  some  consideration, 
allowed  me  to  accept  it. 

In  the  spring  of  1800,  accordingly,  I  went  up  to  Eton, 
for  the  purpose  of  joining  my  friend.  Here  I  several  times 
visited  the  gardens  of  the  queen's  villa  at  Frogmorc  ;  and, 
privileged  by  my  young  friend's  introduction,  I  had  oppor- 
tunities of  seeing  and  hearing  the  queen  and  all  the  prin- 
cesses ;  which  at  that  time  was  a  novelty  in  my  life,  natu- 
rally a  good  deal  prized.  Lord  Westport's  mother  had 
been,  before  her  marriage,  Lady  Louisa  Howe,  daughter  to 
the  great  admiral.  Earl  Howe,  and  intimately  known  to  the 

*  My  acquaintance  with  Lord  Westport  was  of  some  years'  stand- 
iTisr-  My  father,  whose  commercial  interests  led  him  often  to  Ireland 
had  many  friends  there.  One  of  these  was  a  country  gentleman  con- 
nected with  the  west ;  aud  at  his  house  I  first  met  Lord  Westport. 

184 


I    ENTER    THE    WORLD.  185 

royal  family,  who,  on  her  account,  took  a  continual  and 
especial  notice  of  her  son. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  I  had  the  honor  of  a  brief  in- 
terview with  the  king.  Madame  De  Campan  mentions,  as 
an  amusing  incident  in  her  early  life,  though  terrific  at  the 
time,  and  overwhelming  to  her  sense  of  shame,  that  not 
long  after  her  establishment  at  Versailles,  in  the  service  of 
some  one  amongst  the  daughters  of  Louis  XV.,  having  as 
yet  never  seen  the  king,  she  was  one  day  suddenly  intro- 
duced to  his  particular  notice,  under  the  following  circum- 
stances :  The  time  was  morning ;  the  young  lady  was  not 
fifteen ;  her  spirits  were  as  the  spirits  of  a  fawn  in  May ; 
her  tour  of  duty  for  the  day  was  either  not  come,  or  was 
gone  ;  and,  finding  herself  alone  in  a  spacious  room,  what 
more  reasonable  thing  could  she  do  than  amuse  herself 
with  making  cheeses?  that  is,  whirling  round,  according  to 
a  fashion  practised  by  young  ladies  both  in  France  and 
England,  and  pirouetting  until  the  petticoat  is  inflated  like 
a  balloon,  and  then  sinking  into  a  courtesy.  Mademoiselle 
was  very  solemnly  rising  from  one  of  these  courtesies,  in 
the  centre  of  her  collapsing  petticoats,  when  a  slight  noise 
alarmed  her.  Jealous  of  intruding  eyes,  yet  not  dreading 
more  than  a  servant  at  worst,  she  turned,  and,  O  Heavens ! 
whom  should  she  behold  but  his  most  Christian  majesty 
advancing  upon  her,  with  a  brilliant  suite  of  gentlemen, 
young  and  old,  equipped  for  the  chase,  who  had  been  all 
silent  spectators  of  her  performances  ?  From  the  king  to 
the  last  of  the  train,  all  bowed  to  her,  and  all  laughed  with- 
out restraint,  as  they  passed  the  abashed  amateur  of  cheese 
making.  But  she,  to  speak  Homerically,  wished  in  that 
hour  that  the  earth  might  gape  and  cover  her  confusion. 
Lord  Westport  and  I  were  about  the  age  of  mademoiselle, 
and  not  much  more  decorously  engaged,  when  a  turn 
brought  us  full  in  view  of  a  royal,  party  coming  along  one 


186  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

of  the  walks  at  Frogmore.  We  were,  in  fact,  theorizing 
and  practically  commenting  on  the  art  of  throwing  stones. 
Boys  liave  a  peculiar  contempt  for  female  attempts  in  that 
way.  For,  besides  that  girls  fling  wide  of  the  mark,  with  a 
certainty  that  might  have  won  the  applause  of  Galerius,* 
there  is  a  peculiar  sling  and  rotary  motion  of  the  arm  in 
launching  a  stone,  which  no  girl  ever  can  attain.  From 
ancient  practice,  I  was  somewhat  of  a  proficient  in  this  art, 
and  was  discussing  the  philosophy  of  female  failures,  illus- 
trating my  doctrines  with  pebbles,  as  the  case  happened  to 
demand  ;  whilst  Lord  Westport  was  practising  on  the  pecu- 
liar whirl  of  the  wrist  with  a  shilling ;  when  suddenly  he 
turned  the  head  of  the  coin  towards  me  with  a  significant 
glance,  and  in  a  low  voice  he  muttered  some  words,  of 
which  I  caught  "  Grace  of  God,''''  "  France  t  and  Ireland^'' 

*  "  Sir,"  said  that  emperor  to  a  soldier  who  had  missed  the  target 
in  succession  I  know  not  how  many  times,  (suppose  we  say  fifteen,) 
'allow  me  to  offer  my  congratulations  on  the  truly  admirable 
skill  you  have  shown  in  keeping  clear  of  the  mark.  Xot  to  have  hit 
once  in  so  many  trials,  argues  the  most  splendid  talents  for  missing." 

t  France  was  at  that  time  among  the  royal  titles,  the  act  for  alter- 
ing the  king's  style  and  title  not  having  then  passed.  As  connected 
with  this  subject,  I  may  here  mention  a  project  (reported  to  have  been 
canvassed  in  council  at  the  time  when  that  alteration  did  take  phice) 
for  changing  the  title  from  king  to  emperor.  What  then  occurred 
strikingly  illustrates  the  general  character  of  the  British  policy  as  to 
all  external  demonstrations  of  pomp  and  national  pretension,  and  its 
strong  opposition  to  that  of  France  under  corresponding  circum- 
stances. The  principle  of  esse  quam  videri,  and  the  carelessness  about 
names  when  the  thing  is  unaffected,  generally  speaking,  must  com- 
mand praise  and  respect.  Yet,  considering  how  often  the  reputation 
of  power  becomes,  for  international  purposes,  nothing  less  than  pow- 
er itself,  and  that  words,  in  many  relations  of  human  life,  are  em- 
phatically things,  and  sometimes  are  so  to  the  exclusion  of  the  most 
absolute  things  themselves,  men  of  all  qualities  being  often  governed 
by  names,  the  policy  of  France  seems  the  wiser,  viz.,  se  /aire  valoir 
even  at  the  price  of  ostentation.     But,  at  ull  events,  no  man  is  enti 


1    ENTER    THE    WORLD.  187 

''■Defender  of  the  Fuith,  and  so  forth.''''  This  solemn  reci- 
tation of  the  legend  on  the  coin  was  meant  as  a  fanciful 
way  of  apprising  me  that  the  king  was  approaching ;  for 
Lord  W.  had  himself  lost  somewhat  of  the  awe  natural  to 

tied  to  exercise  that  extreme  candor,  forbearance,  and  spirit  of  ready 
concession  in  re  aliena,  and,  above  all,  in  re  polilica,  which,  on  his  own 
account,  might  be  altogether  honorable.  The  council  might  give 
away  their  own  honors,  but  not  yours  and  mine.  On  a  public  (or  at 
least  on  a  foreign)  interest,  it  is  the  duty  of  a  good  citizen  to  be  lofty, 
exacting,  almost  insolent.  And,  on  this  principle,  when  the  ancient 
style  and  title  of  the  kingdom  fell  under  revision,  if — as  I  do  not 
deny  —  it  was  advisable  to  retrench  all  obsolete  pretensions  as  so 
many  memorials  of  a  greatness  that  in  that  particular  manifestation 
was  now  extinct,  and  therefore,  p7-o  tanto,  rather  presumptions  of 
weakness  than  of  strength,  as  being  mementoes  of  our  losses,  yet,  on 
the  other  hand,  all  countervailing  claims  which  had  since  arisen,  and 
had  far  more  than  equiponderated  the  declension  in  that  one  direction, 
should  have  been  then  adopted  into  the  titular  heraldry  of  tlie  nation. 
It  was  neither  wise  nor  just  to  insult  foreign  nations  with  assump- 
tions which  no  longer  stood  upon  any  basis  of  reality.  And  on  that 
ground  France  was,  perhaps,  rightly  omitted.  But  why,  when  the 
crown  was  thus  remoulded,  and  its  jewelry  unset,  if  this  one  pearl 
were  to  be  surrendered  as  an  ornament  no  longer  ours,  why,  we  may 
ask,  were  not  the  many  and  gorgeous  jewels,  achieved  by  the  national 
wisdom  and  power  in  later  times,  adopted  into  the  recomposed  tiara  ? 
Ujjon  what  principle  did  the  Romans,  the  wisest  among  the  children 
of  this  world,  leave  so  many  inscriptions,  as  records  of  their  power  or 
their  triumphs,  upon  columns,  arches,  temples,  basilicce,  or  medals  f 
A  national  act,  a  solemn  and  deliberate  act,  delivered  to  history,  is  a 
more  imperishable  monument  than  any  made  by  hands ;  and  the 
title,  as  revised,  which  ought  to  have  expressed  a  change  in  the  do- 
minion simply  as  to  the  mode  and  form  of  its  expansion,  now  re- 
mains as  a  false,  base,  abject  confession  of  absolute  contraction  :  once 
we  had  A,  B,  .ind  C ;  now  we  have  dwindled  into  A  and  B  :  true, 
most  unfaithful  guardian  of  the  national  honors,  we  had  lost  C,  and 
that  you  were  careful  to  remember.  But  we  happened  to  have  gained 
D,  E,  F,  —  and  so  downwards  to  Z,  —  all  of  which  duly  you  forgot. 

On  this  argument,  it  was  urged  at  the  time,  in  high  quarters,  that 
the  new  re-cast  of  the   crown   and  sceptre  should  come  out  of  tha 


188  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

a  young  person  in  a  first  situation  of  this  nature,  through 
his  frequent  admissions  to  the  royal  presence.  For  my 
own  part,  I  was  as  yet  a  stranger  even  to  the  king's  person. 
I  had,  indeed,  seen  most  or  all  the  princesses  in  the  way  I 

furnace  equably  improved  ;  as  much  for  what  they  were  authorizetl  to 
claim  as  for  what  they  were  compelled  to  disclaim.  And,  as  one 
mode  of  effecting  this,  it  was  proposed  that  the  king  should  become 
an  emperor.  Some,  indeed,  alleged  that  an  emperor,  by  its  very  idea, 
as  received  in  the  Chancery  of  Europe,  presupposes  a  king  para- 
mount over  vassal  or  tributary  kings.  But  it  is  a  sufficient  answer  to 
say  that  an  emperor  is  a  prince,  uniting  in  his  own  person  the  thrones 
of  several  distinct  kingdoms ;  and  in  effect  we  adopt  that  view  of  the 
case  in  giving  the  title  of  imperial  to  the  parliament,  or  common  as 
sembly  of  the  three  kingdoms.  However,  the  title  of  the  prince  was 
a  matter  trivial  in  comparison  of  the  title  of  his  ditio,  or  extent  of 
jurisdiction.  This  point  admits  of  a  striking  illustration  :  in  the 
"  Paradise  Eegained,"  Milton  has  given  us,  in  close  succession,  three 
matchless  pictures  of  civil  grandeur,  as  exemplified  in  three  different 
modes  by  three  different  states.  Availing  himself  of  the  brief  scriptural 
notice,  —  "  The  devil  taketh  him  up  into  an  exceeding  high  mountain, 
and  showeth  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  the  glory  of  them," 
—  he  causes  to  pass,  as  in  a  solemn  pageant  before  us,  the  two  milita- 
ry empires  then  coexisting,  of  Parthia  and  Rome,  and  finally  (under 
another  idea  of  political  greatness)  the  intellectual  glories  of  Athens. 
From  the  picture  of  the  Roman  grandeur  I  extract,  and  beg  the 
reader  to  weigh,  the  following  lines :  — 

"  Thence  to  the  gates  cast  round  thine  eye,  and  sec    — at 
What  conflux  issuing  forth  or  entering  in ; 
Pretors,  proconsuls,  to  their  provinces 
Hasting,  or  on  return  in  robes  of  state  ; 
Lictors  and  rods,  the  ensigns  of  their  power ; 
Legions  or  cohorts,  turms  of  horse  and  wings  ; 
Or  embassies  from  regions  far  remote, 
In  various  habits  on  the  Appian  road, 
Or  on  the  Emilian  ;  some  from  farthest  south, 
Syene,  and  where  the  shadow  both  way  falls, 
Merofi,  Nilotic  isle :  and,  more  to  west, 
The  realm  of  Bocchus  to  the  Blackmoor  Sea , 
From  India  and  the  Golden  Chersonese, 


I    ENTER    THE    WORLD.  l89 

have  mentioned  ibove  ;  and  occasionally,  in  the  streets  of 
Windsor,  the  sudden  disappearance  of  all  hats  from  all 
heads  had  admonished  me  that  some  royal  personage  or 
other  was  then  traversing  (or,  if  not  traversing,  was  cross- 

And  utmost  Iiuluin  isle,  TaproUanc, 
—  Dusk  ftvces  with  white  silken  turbans  wreathed  ; 
From  Gallia,  Gades,  and  the  British,  west, 
Germans,  and  Scythians,  and  Sarmatians,  north, 
Beyond  Danubius  to  the  Tauric  pool." 

With  this  superb  picture,  or  abstraction  of  the  Eoman  pomps  and 
power,  when  ascending  to  their  utmost  altitude,  confront  the  follow- 
ing representative  sketch  of  a  great  English  levee  on  some  high  so- 
lemnity, suppose  the  king's  birthday :  "  Amongst  the  presentations 
to  his  majest}',  we  noticed  Lord  O.  S.,  the  governor  general  of  In- 
dia, on  his  departure  for  Bengal ;  Mr.  U.  Z.,  with  an  address  from  the 
Upper  and  Lower  Canadas ;  Sir  L.  V.,  on  his  appointment  as  com- 
mander of  the  forces  in  Nova  Scotia ;  General  Sir ,  on  his  re- 
turn from  the  Burmese  war,  f"  the  Golden  Chersonese,"]  the  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Mediterranean  fleet ;  Mr.  B.  Z.,  on  his  ap- 
pointment to  the  chief  justiceship  at  Madras  ;  Sir  R.  G.,  the  late 
attorney  general  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope ;  General  Y.  X.,  on 
taking  leave  for  the  governorship  of  Ceylon,  ["the  utmost  Indian 
isle,  Taprobane  ;  "]  Lord  F.  M.,  the  bearer  of  the  last  despatches 
from  head  quarters  in  Spain ;  Col.  P.,  on  going  out  as  captain  gen- 
eral of  the  forces  in  New  Holland  ;  Commodore  St.  L.,  on  his  return 
from  a  voyage  of  discovery  towanls  the  north  pole  ;  the  King  of 
Owhyhee,  attended  by  chieftains  from  the  other  islands  of  that  clus- 
ter ;  Col.  M'P.,  on  his  return  from  the  war  in  Ashantee,  upon  which 
occasion  the  gallant  colonel  presented  the  treaty  and  tribute  from  that 
country  ;  Admiral ,  on  his  appointment  to  the  Baltic  fleet ;  Cap- 
tain 0.  N.,  with  despatches  from  the  Red  Sea,  advising  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  piratical  ai-mament  and  settlements  in  that  quarter,  as 
also  in  the  Persian  Gulf;  Sir  T.  O'N.,  the  late  resident  in  Nepaul,  to 
present  his  report  of  the  war  in  that  territory,  and  in  adjacent  re 
gions  —  names  as  yet  unknown  in  Europe;  the  governor  of  the 
Leeward  Islands,  on  departing  for  the  West  Indies  ;  various  dejiuta 
tions  with  petitions,  addresses,  &c.,  from  islands  in  remote  quarters 
of  the  globe,  amongst  which  we  distinguished  those  from  Prince  Ed- 
ward Island,  in  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawreilce,  from  the  Mauritius,  from 


190 


AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 


ing)  the  street ;  but  either  his  majesty  had  never  been  of 
the  party,  or,  from  distance,  I  had  failed  to  distinguish  him. 
Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  was  meeting  him  neai'ly  face  to 
face  ;  for,  thougli  the  walk  we  occupied  was  not  that  in 
which  the  royal  party  were  moving,  it  ran  so  near  it,  and 
was  connected  by  so  many  cross  walks  at  short  intervals, 
that  it  was  a  matter  of  necessity  for  us,  as  we  were  now 
observed,  to  go  and   present  ourselves.     What  happened 

Java,  from  the  British  settlement  in  Terra  del  Fuego,  from  the  Chris- 
tian churches  in  the  Society,  Friendly,  and  Sandwich  Islands  —  as 
well  as  other  groups  less  known  in  the  South  Seas ;  Admiral  H.  A., 
on  assuming  the  command  of  the  Channel  fleet ;  Major  Gen.  X.  L., 
on  resigning  the  lieutenant  governorship  of  Gibraltar ;  Hon.  G.  F.,  on 
going  out  as  secretary  to  tlie  governor  of  Malta,"  &c. 

This  sketch,  too  hastily  made  up,  is  founded  upon  a  base  of  a  very 
few  years  ;  i.  e.,  we  have,  in  one  or  two  instances,  placed  in  juxtapo- 
sition, as  coexistences,  events  separated  by  a  few  years.  But  if  (like 
Milton's  picture  of  the  Roman  grandeur)  the  abstraction  had  been 
made  from  a  base  of  thirty  years  in  extent,  and  had  there  been  added 
to  the  picture  (according  to  his  precedent)  the  many  and  remote  em- 
bassies to  and  from  independent  states,  in  all  quarters  of  the  earth, 
with  how  many  more  groups  might  the  spectacle  have  been  crowded, 
and  especially  of  those  who  foil  within  that  most  picturesque  deline- 
ation — 

"  Dusk  faces  with  white  silken  turbans  wreathed  "  ! 

As  it  is,  I  have  noticed  hardly  any  places  but  such  as  lie  absolutely 
within  our  jurisdiction.  And  yet,  even  under  that  limitation,  how 
vastly  more  comprehensive  is  the  chart  of  British  dominion  than  of 
the  Roman  !  To  this  gorgeous  empire,  some  corresponding  style  and 
title  siiould  have  been  adajitcd  at  the  revision  of  the  old  title,  and 
should  yet  be  adapted. 

Apropos  of  the  proposed  change  in  the  king's  title :  Coleridge,  on 
being  assured  that  the  new  title  of  the  king  was  to  be  Emperor  of 
the  British  Islands  and  their  dependencies,  and  on  the  coin  Impera- 
tor  Britamiinrum,  remarked,  that,  in  tliis  remanufactured  form,  the 
title  might  be  said  to  ho  japanned;  alluding  to  this  fact,  that  amongst 
insular  sovereigns,  the  only  one  known  to  Christian  diplomacy  by  the 
title  of  emperor  is  the  Sovereign  of  Japan. 


I    ENTER    THE    WORLD  191 

was  pretty  nearly  as  follows :  The  king,  having  first 
spoken  with  great  kindness  to  my  companion,  inquiring 
circumstantially  about  his  mother  and  grandmother,  as  per- 
sons particularly  well  known  to  himself,  then  turned  his 
eye  upon  me.  My  name,  it  seems,  had  been  communicat- 
ed to  him  ;  he  did  not,  therefore,  inquire  about  that.  Was 
I  of  Eton  }  This  was  his  first  question.  I  replied  that  I  was 
not,  but  hoped  I  should  be.  Had  I  a  fatiier  living  ?  I  had 
not :  my  father  had  been  dead  about  eight  years.  "  But 
you  have  a  mother?"  I  had.  "And  she  thinks  of  send- 
ing you  to  Eton  ?  "  I  answered,  that  she  had  expressed 
such  an  intention  in  my  hearing  ;  but  I  was  not  sure  whetii- 
er  that  might  not  be  in  order  to  waive  an  argument  with 
the  person  to  whom  she  spoke,  who  happened  to  have  been 
an  Etonian.  "  O,  but  all  people  think  highly  of  Eton  ; 
every  body  praises  Eton.  Your  mother  does  right  to  in- 
quire ;  there  can  be  no  harm  in  that ;  but  the  more  she  in- 
quires, the  more  she  will  be  satisfied  —  that  1  can  answer 
for." 

Next  came  a  question  which  had  been  suggested  by  my 
name.  Had  my  family  come  into  England  with  the  Hu- 
guenots at  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantz  ?  This 
was  a  tender  point  with  me  :  of  all  things  I  could  not  en- 
dure to  be  supposed  of  French  descent ;  yet  it  was  a  vexa- 
tion I  had  constantly  to  face,  as  most  people  supposed  that 
my  name  argued  a  French  origin  ;  whereas  a  Norman 
origin  argued  pretty  certainly  an  origin  7iot  French.  1  re- 
plied, with  some  haste,  "  Please  your  majesty,  the  family 
has  been  in  England  since  the  conquest."  It  is  probable 
that  I  colored,  or  showed  some  mark  of  discomposure,  with 
which,  however,  the  king  was  not  displeased,  for  he  smiled, 
and  said,  "  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  Here  I  was  at  a 
loss  for  a  moment  how  to  answer ;  for  I  was  sensible  that  it 
did  not  become  me  to  occupy  the  king's  attention  with  any 


192  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

long  Stories  or  traditions  about  a  subject  so  unimportant  as 
my  own  family ;  and  yet  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
say  something,  unless  I  would  be  thought  to  have  denied 
my  Huguenot  descent  upon  no  reason  or  authority.  After 
a  moment''s  hesitation,  I  said,  in  effect,  that  the  family  from 
which  I  traced  my  descent  had  certainly  been  a  great  and 
leading  one  at  the  era  of  the  barons'  wars,  as  also  in  one 
at  least  of  the  crusades ;  and  that  I  had  myself  seen  many 
notices  of  this  family,  not  only  in  books  of  heraldry,  &c., 
but  in  the  very  earliest  of  all  English  books.  "  And  what 
book  was  that  ?  "  "  Robert  of  Gloucester's  '  Metrical 
Chronicle,'  which  I  understood,  from  internal  evidence, 
to  have  been  written  about  1280."  The  king  smiled 
again,  and  said,  "  I  know,  I  know."  But  what  it  was  that 
he  knew,  long  afterwards  puzzled  me  to  conjecture.  I 
now  imagine,  however,  that  he  meant  to  claim  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  book  I  referred  to — a  thing  which  at  that 
time  I  thought  improbable,  supposing  the  king's  acquaint- 
ance with  literature  not  to  be  very  extensive,  nor  likely  to 
have  comprehended  any  knowledge  at  all  of  the  black- 
letter  period.  But  in  this  belief  I  was  greatly  mistaken,  as 
I  was  afterwards  fully  convinced  by  the  best  evidence  from 
various  quarters.  That  library  of  120,000  volumes,  which 
George  IV.  presented  to  the  nation,  and  which  has  since 
gone  to  swell  the  collection  at  the  British  Museum,  had 
been  formed  (as  I  was  often  assured  by  persons  to  whom 
the  whole  history  of  the  library,  and  its  growth  from  small 
rudiments,  was  familiarly  known)  under  the  direct  per- 
sonal superintendence  of  George  III.  It  was  a  favorite  and 
pet  creation  ;  and  his  care  extended  even  to  the  dress- 
ing of  the  books  in  appropriate  bindings,  and  (as  one  man 
told  me)  to  their  health;  explaining  himself  to  mean,  that 
in  any  case  where  a  book  was  worm-eaten,  or  touched 
however  slightly  with  the  worm,  the  king  was  anxious  to 


I    ENTER    THE    AVORLD.  193 

prevent  the  injury  from  extending,  or  from  infecting  others 
by  close  neighborhood  ;  for  it  is  supposed  by  many  that 
such  injuries  spread  rapidly  in  favorable  situations.  One 
of  my  informants  vv^as  a  German  bookbinder  of  great  re- 
spectability, settled  in  London,  and  for  many  years  em- 
ployed by  the  Admiralty  as  a  confidential  binder  of  records 
or  journals  containing  secrets  of  office,  &c.  Through  this 
connection  he  had  been  recommended  to  the  service  of  his 
majesty,  whom  he  used  to  see  continually  in  the  course  of 
his  attendance  at  Buckingham  House,  where  the  books 
were  deposited.  This  artist  had  (originally  in  the  way  of 
his  trade)  become  well  acquainted  with  the  money  value 
of  English  books;  and  that  knowledge  cannot  be  acquired 
without  some  concurrent  knowledge  of  their  subject  and 
their  kind  of  merit.  Accordingly,  he  was  tolerably  well 
qualified  to  estimate  any  man's  attainments  as  a  reading 
man  ;  and  from  him  I  received  such  circumstantial  ac- 
counts of  many  conversations  he  had  held  with  the  king, 
evidently  reported  with  entire  good  faith  and  simplicity, 
that  I  cannot  doubt  the  fact  of  his  majesty's  very  general 
acquaintance  with  English  literature.  Not  a  day  passed, 
whenever  the  king  happened  to  be  at  Buckingham  House, 
without  his  coming  into  the  binding  room,  and  minutely  in- 
specting the  progress  of  the  binder  and  his  allies  —  the  gild- 
ers, toolers,  &c.  From  the  outside  of  the  book  the  transition 
was  natural  to  its  value  in  the  scale  of  bibliography  ;  and 
in  that  way  my  informant  had  ascertained  that  the  king 
was  well  acquainted,  not  only  with  Robert  of  Gloucester, 
but  with  all  the  other  early  chronicles,  published  by  Hearne, 
and,  in  fact,  possessed  that  entire  series  which  rose  at  one 
period  to  so  enormous  a  price.  From  this  person  I  learned 
afterwards  that  the  king  prided  himself  especially  upon 
his  early  fol.os  of  Shakspcare  ;  that  is  to  say,  not  merely 
upon  the  excellence  of  the  individual  copies  in  a  biblio- 
13 


194  ATJTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

graphical  sense,  as  "  tall  copies "  and  having  large  mar- 
gins, &c.,  but  chiefly  from  their  value  in  relation  to  the 
most  authentic  basis  for  the  text  of  the  poet.  And  thus 
it  appears,  that  at  least  two  of  our  kings,  Charles  I.  and 
George  III.,  have  made  it  their  pride  to  profess  a  rever- 
ential esteem  for  Shakspeare.  This  bookbinder  added  his 
attestation  to  the  truth  (or  to  the  generally  reputed  truth) 
of  a  story  which  I  had  heard  from  other  authority,  viz.. 
that  the  librarian,  or,  if  not  officially  the  librarian,  at  least 
the  chief  director  in  every  thing  relating  to  the  books,  was 
an  illegitimate  son  of  Frederic,  Prince  of  Wales,  (son  to 
George  II.,)  and  therefore  half-brother  of  the  king.  His 
own  taste  and  inclinations,  it  seemed,  concurred  with  his 
brother's  wishes  in  keeping  him  in  a  subordinate  rank 
and  an  obscure  station  ;  in  which,  however,  he  enjoyed 
affluence  without  anxiety,  or  trouble,  or  courtly  envy,  and 
the  luxury,  which  he  most  valued,  of  a  superb  library. 
He  lived  and  died,  I  have  heard,  as  plain  Mr.  Barnard, 
At  one  time  I  disbelieved  the  story,  (which  possibly  may 
have  been  long  known  to  the  public,)  on  the  ground  that 
even  George  III.  would  not  have  differed  so  widely  from 
princes  in  general  as  to  leave  a  brother  of  his  own,  how- 
ever unaspiring,  wholly  undistinguished  by  public  honors. 
But  having  since  ascertained  that  a  naval  officer,  well 
known  to  my  own  family,  and  to  a  naval  brother  of  my 
own  in  particular,  by  assistance  rendered  to  him  repeat- 
edly when  a  midshipman  in  changing  his  ship,  was  un- 
doubtedly an  illegitimate  son  of  George  III.,  and  yet  that 
he  never  rose  higher  than  the  rank  of  post  captain,  though 
privately  acknowledged  by  his  father  and  other  members 
of  the  royal  family,  I  found  the  insufficiency  of  that  ob- 
jection. The  fact  is,  and  it  does  honor  to  the  king's  mem- 
ory, he  reverenced  the  moral  feelings  of  his  country 
which  are,  in  this  and  in  all  points  of  domestic  morals, 


1    ENTER     THE    WORLD,  195 

severe  and  high  toned,  (I  say  it  in  defiance  of  writers,  such 
as  Lord  Byron,  Mr.  Hazlitt,  &;c.,  who  hated  alike  the  just 
and  the  unjust  pretensions  of  England,)  in  a  degree  ab- 
solutely incomprehensible  to  Southern  Europe.  He  had  his 
frailties  like  other  children  of  Adam  ;  but  he  did  not  seek 
to  fix  the  public  attention  upon  them,  after  the  fashion  of 
Louis  Quatorze,  or  our  Charles  II.,  and  so  many  other 
continental  princes.  There  were  living  witnesses  (more 
than  one)  of  Ms  aberrations  as  of  theirs  ;  but  he,  with 
better  feelings  than  they,  did  not  choose,  by  placing  these 
witnesses  upon  a  pedestal  of  honor,  surmounted  by  he- 
raldic trophies,  to  emblazon  his  own  transgressions  to 
coming  generations,  and  to  force  back  the  gaze  of  a  re- 
mote posterity  upon  his  own  infirmities.  It  was  his  ambi- 
tion to  be  the  father  of  his  people  in  a  sense  not  quite  so 
literal.  These  were  things,  however,  of  which  at  that  time 
I  had  not  heard. 

During  the  whole  dialogue,  I  did  not  even  once  remark 
that  hesitation  and  iteration  of  words  generally  attributed 
to  George  III. ;  indeed,  so  generally,  that  it  must  often  have 
existed ;  but  in  this  case,  I  suppose  that  the  brevity  of  his 
sentences  operated  to  deliver  him  from  any  embarrassment 
of  utterance,  such  as  might  have  attended  longer  and  more 
complex  sentences,  where  some  anxiety  was  natural  to 
overtake  the  thoughts  as  they  arose.  When  we  observed 
that  the  king  had  paused  in  his  stream  of  questions,  which 
succeeded  rapidly  to  each  other,  we  understood  it  as  a  sig- 
nal of  dismissal ;  and  making  a  profound  obeisance,  we  re- 
tired backwards  a  kw  steps.  His  majesty  smiled  in  a  very 
gracious  manner,  waved  his  hand  towards  us,  and  said 
something  (I  did  not  know  what)  in  a  peculiarly  kind  ac- 
cent ;  he  then  turned  round,  and  the  whole  party  along  with 
him ;  which  set  us  at  liberty  without  impropriety  to  turn  to 
th6  right  about  ourselves,  and  make  our  egress  from  the 
gardens. 


196  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

This  incident,  to  me  at  my  age,  was  very  naturally  one 
of  considerable  interest.  One  reflection  it  suggested  after- 
wards, which  was  this :  Could  it  be  likely  that  much  truth 
of  a  general  nature,  bearing  upon  man  and  social  interests, 
could  ever  reach  the  ear  of  a  king,  under  the  etiquette  of  a 
court,  and  under  that  one  rule  which  seemed  singly  suffi- 
cient to  foreclose  all  natural  avenues  to  truth  .?  —  the  rule,  I 
mean,  by  which  it  is  forbidden  to  address  a  question  to  the 
king.  I  was  well  aware,  before  I  saw  him,  that  in  the 
royal  presence,  like  the  dead  soldier  in  Lucan,  whom  the 
mighty  necromancing  witch  tortures  back  into  a  moment- 
ary life,  I  must  have  no  voice  except  for  answers :  — 

"  Vox  illi  linguaque  tantum 
Hesponsura  datur."  * 

I  was  to  originate  nothing  myself;  and  at  my  age,  before 
so  exalted  a  personage,  the  mere  instincts  of  reverential 
demeanor  would  at  any  rate  have  dictated  such  a  rule. 
But  what  becomes  of  that  man's  general  condition  of  mind 
in  relation  to  all  the  great  objects  moving  on  the  field  of 
human  experience,  where  it  is  a  law  generally  for  almost 
all  who  approach  him,  that  they  shall  confine  themselves 
to  replies,  absolute  responses,  or,  at  most,  to  a  prosecution 
or  carrying  forward  of  a  proposition  delivered  by  the  pro- 
tagonist, or  supreme  leader  of  the  conversation  ?  For  it 
must  be  remembered  that,  generally  speaking,  the  effect 
of  putting  no  question  is  to  transfer  into  the  other  party's 
hands  the  entire  originating  movement  of  the  dialogue  ; 
and  thus,  in  a  musical  metaphor,  the  great  man  is  the  sole 
modulator  and  determiner  of  the  key  in  which  the  conver- 
sation proceeds.     It  is  true,  that  sometimes,  by  travelling  a 

*  For  the  sake  of  those  who  are  no  classical  scholars,  I  explain  : 
Voice  and  language  are  restored  to  him  only  to  the  extent  of  repli/iny. 


I    ENTER    THE    WORLD.  197 

little  beyond  the  question  in  your  answer,  .you  may  enlarge 
the  basis,  so  as  to  bring  up  some  new  train  of  thought 
which  you  wish  to  introduce,  and  may  suggest  fresh  mat- 
ter as  effectually  as  if  you  had  the  liberty  of  more  openly 
guiding  the  conversation,  whether  by  way  of  question  or  by 
direct  origination  of  a  topic ;  but  this  depends  on  skill  to 
improve  an  opening,  or  vigilance  to  seize  it  at  the  instant, 
and,  after  all,  much  upon  accident ;  to  say  nothing  of  the 
crime,  (a  sort  of  petty  treason,  perhaps,  or,  what  is  it?)  if 
you  should  be  detected  in  your  "  improvements  "  and  "  en- 
largements of  basis."  The  king  might  say,  "  Friend,  I 
must  tell  my  attorney  general  to  speak  with  you,  for  I  de- 
tect a  kind  of  treason  in  your  replies.  They  go  too  far. 
They  include  something  which  tempts  my  majesty  to  a  no- 
tice ;  which  is,  in  fact,  for  the  long  and  the  short  of  it,  that 
you  have  been  circumventing  me  half  unconsciously  into 
answering  a  question  which  has  silently  been  insinuated  by 
2/oM."  Freedom  of  communication,  unfettered  movement 
of  thought,  there  can  be  none  under  such  a  ritual,  which 
tends  violently  to  a  Byzantine,  or  even  to  a  Chinese  result 
of  freezing,  as  it  were,  all  natural  and  healthy  play  of  the 
faculties  under  the  petrific  mace  of  absolute  ceremonial 
and  fixed  precedent.  For  it  will  hardly  be  objected,  that 
the  privileged  condition  of  a  few  official  councillors  and 
state  ministers,  whose  hurry  and  oppression  of  thought 
from  public  care  will  rarely  allow  them  to  speak  on  any 
other  subject  than  business,  can  be  a  remedy  large  enough 
for  so  large  an  evil.  True  it  is,  that  a  peculiarly  frank  or 
jovial  temperament  in  a  sovereign  may  do  much  for  a  sea- 
son to  thaw  this  punctilious  reserve  and  ungenial  con- 
straint ;  but  that  is  an  accident,  and  personal  to  an  individ- 
ual. And,  on  the  other  hand,  to  balance  even  this,  it  may 
be  remarked,  that,  in  all  noble  and  fashionable  society, 
where  there  happens  to  be       pride  in  sustaining  what  is 


198  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

deemed  a  good  tone  in  conversation,  it  is  peculiarly  aimed 
at,  (and  even  artificially  managed,)  that  no  lingering  or  loi- 
tering upon  one  theme,  no  protracted  discussion,  shall  be 
allowed.  And,  doubtless,  as  regards  merely  the  treatment 
of  convivial  or  purely  social  communication  of  ideas, 
(which  also  is  a  great  art,)  this  practice  is  right.  I  admit 
willingly  that  an  uncultured  brute,  who  is  detected  at  an 
elegant  table  in  the  atrocity  of  absolute  discussion  or  dispu- 
tation, ought  to  be  summarily  removed  by  a  police  officer ; 
and  possibly  the  law  will  warrant  his  being  held  to  bail  for 
one  or  two  years,  according  to  the  enormity  of  his  case. 
But  men  are  not  always  enjoying,  or  seeking  to  enjoy,  so- 
cial pleasure  ;  they  seek  also,  and  have  need  to  seek  con- 
tinually, both  through  books  and  men,  intellectual  growth, 
fresh  power,  fresh  strength,  to  keep  themselves  ahead  or 
abreast  of  this  moving,  surging,  billowing  world  of  ours ; 
especially  in  these  modern  times,  when  society  revolves 
through  so  many  new  phases,  and  shifts  its  aspects  with  so 
much  more  velocity  than  in  past  ages.  A  king,  especially 
of  this  country,  needs,  beyond  most  other  men,  to  keep 
himself  in  a  continual  state  of  communication,  as  it  were, 
by  some  vital  and  organic  sympathy,  with  the  most  essen- 
tial of  these  changes.  And  yet  this  punctilio  of  etiquette, 
like  some  vicious  forms  of  law  or  technical  fictions  grown 
too  narrow  for  the  age,  which  will  not  allow  of  cases  com- 
ing before  the  court  in  a  shape  desired  alike  by  the  plain- 
tiff and  the  defendant,  is  so  framed  as  to  defeat  equally  the 
wishes  of  a  prince  disposed  to  gather  knowledge  wherever 
he  can  find  it,  and  of  those  who  may  be  best  fitted  to  give  it. 
For  a  few  minutes  on  three  other  occasions,  before  we 
finally  quitted  Eton,  I  again  saw  the  king,  and  always 
with  renewed  interest.  He  was  kind  to  every  body  —  con- 
descending and  affable  in  a  degree  which  I  am  bound  to 
remember  with  personal  gratitude  ;  and  one  thing  I  had 


I    ENTER    THE    WORLD.  199 

heard  of  him,  which  even  then,  and  much  more  as  my 
mind  opened  to  a  wider  compass  of  deeper  reflection,  won 
my  respect.  I  have  always  reverenced  a  man  of  whom  it 
could  be  truly  said  that  he  had  once,  and  once  only,  (for 
more  than  once  implies  another  unsoundness  in  .the  quality 
of  the  passion,)  been  desperately  in  love  ;  in  love,  that  is  to 
say,  in  a  terrific  excess,  so  as  to  dally,  under  suitable  cir- 
cumstances, with  the  thoughts  of  cutting  his  own  throat,  or 
even  (as  the  case  might  be)  the  throat  of  her  whom  he  loved 
above  all  this  world.  It  will  be  understood  that  I  am  not 
justifying  such  enormities ;  on  the  contrary,  they  are 
wrong,  exceedingly  wrong ;  but  it  is  evident  that  people  in 
genei-al  feel  pretty  much  as  I  do,  from  the  extreme  sym- 
pathy with  which  the  public  always  pursue  the  fate  of  any 
criminal  who  has  committed  a  murder  of  this  class,  even 
though  tainted  (as  generally  it  is)  with  jealousy,  which,  in 
itself,  wherever  it  argues  habitual  mistrust,  is  an  ignoble 
passion.* 

Great  passions,  (do  not  understand  me,  reader,  as  though 
I  meant  great  appetites,)  passions  moving  in  a  great  orbit, 
and  transcending  little  regards,  are  always  arguments  of 
some  latent  nobility.  There  are,  indeed,  but  few  men  and 
few  women  capable  of  great  passions,  or  (properly  speak- 
ing) of  passions  at  all.  Hartley,  in  his  mechanism  of  tne 
human  mind,  propagates  the  sensations  by  means  of  vibra- 
tions, and  by  miniature  vibrations,  which,  in  a  Roman  form 

*  Accordingly,  Coleridge  has  contended,  and  I  think  with  truth, 
that  the  passion  of  Othello  is  not  jealousy.  So  much  I  know  by  re- 
port, as  the  result  of  a  lecture  which  he  read  at  the  Royal  Institution. 
His  arguments  I  did  not  hear.  To  me  it  is  evident  that  Othello's 
state  of  feeling  was  not  that  of  a  degrading,  suspicious  rivalship,  but 
the  state  of  perfect  misery,  arising  out  of  this  dilemma,  the  most  af- 
fecting, perhaps,  to  contemplate  of  any  which  can  exist,  viz.,  the  dire 
necessity  of  loving  without  limit  one  whom  the  heart  pronouuces  to 
be  unworthy  of  that  love 


200  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

for  such  miniatures,  he  terms  vihratiuncles.  Now,  of  men 
and  women  generally,  parodying  that  terminology,  we 
ought  to  say  —  not  that  they  are  governed  by  passions,  or 
at  all  capable  of  passions,  but  of  passiuncles.  And  thence 
it  is  that  kw  men  go,  or  can  go,  beyond  a  Ihtle  love-liking, 
as  it  is  called  ;  and  hence  also,  that,  in  a  world  where  so 
little  conformity  takes  place  between  the  ideal  speculations 
of  men  and  the  gross  realities  of  life,  where  marriages  are 
governed  in  so  vast  a  proportion  by  convenience,  prudence, 
self-interest,  —  any  thing,  in  short,  rather  than  deep  sym- 
pathy between  the  parties,  —  and,  consequently,  where  so 
many  men  must  be  crossed  in  their  inclinations,  we  yet 
hear  of  so  few  tragic  catastrophes  on  that  account.  The 
king,  however,  was  certainly  among  the  number  of  those 
who  are  susceptible  of  a  deep  passion,  if  every  thing  be 
true  that  is  reported  of  him.  All  the  world  has  heard  that 
he  was  passionately  devoted  to  the  beautiful  sister  of  the 
then  Duke  of  Richmond.  That  was  before  his  marriage  ; 
and  I  believe  it  is  certain  that  he  not  only  wished,  but  sin- 
cerely meditated,  to  have  married  her.  So  much  is  matter 
of  notoriety.  But  other  circumstances  of  the  case  have 
been  sometimes  reported,  which  imply  great  distraction 
of  mind  and  a  truly  profound  possession  of  his  heart 
by  that  early  passion ;  which,  in  a  prince  whose  feelings 
are  liable  so  much  to  the  dispersing  and  dissipating  power 
of  endless  interruption  from  new  objects  and  fresh  claims 
on  the  attention,  coupled  also  with  the  fact  that  he  never, 
but  in  this  one  case,  professed  any  thing  amounting  to  ex- 
travagant or  frantic  attachment,  do  seem  to  argue  that  the 
king  was  truly  and  passionately  in  love  with  Lady  Sarah 
Lennox.  He  had  a  demon  upon  him,  and  was  under  a  real 
possession.  If  so,  what  a  lively  expression  of  the  mixed 
condition  of  human  fortunes,  and  not  less  of  another  truth 
equally  affecting,  viz.,  the  dread  conflicts  with  the  will, 


I    ENTER    THE    WORLD.  201 

the  mighty  agitations  which  silently  and  in  darkness  are 
convulsing  many  a  heart,  where,  to  the  external  eye,  all  is 
tranquil,  —  that  this  king,  at  the  very  threshold  of  his  public 
career,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  binding  about  his 
brows  the  golden  circle  of  sovereignty,  when  Europe 
watched  him  with  interest,  and  the  kings  of  the  earth  with 
envy,  not  one  of  the  vulgar  titles  to  happiness  being  want- 
ing,—  youth,  health,  a  throne  the  most  splendid  on  this 
planet,  general  popularity  amongst  a  nation  of  freemen, 
and  the  hope  which  belongs  to  powers  as  yet  almost  un- 
tried,—  that,  even  under  these  most  flattering  auspices,  he 
should  be  called  upon  to  make  a  sacrifice  the  most  bitter  of 
all  to  which  human  life  is  liable!  He  made  it;  and  he 
might  then  have  said  to  his  people,  "  For  you,  and  to  my 
public  duties,  I  have  made  a  sacrifice  which  none  of  you 
would  have  made  for  me."  In  years  long  ago,  I  have 
heard  a^voman  of  rank  recurring  to  the  circumstances  of 
Lady  Sarah's  first  appearance  at  court  after  the  king's 
marriage.  If  I  recollect  rightly,  it  occurred  after  that 
lady's  own  marriage  with  Sir  Charles  Bunbury.  Many 
eyes  were  upon  both  parties  at  that  moment,  —  female  eyes, 
especially,  —  and  the  speaker  did  not  disguise  the  excessive 
interest  with  which  she  herself  observed  them.  Lady 
Sarah  was  not  agitated,  but  the  king  was.  He.  seemed 
anxious,  sensibly  trembled,  changed  color,  and  shivered,  as 
Lady  S.  B.  drew  near.  But,  to  quote  the  one  single 
eloquent  sentiment,  which  I  remember  after  a  lapse  of 
thirty  years,  in  Monk  Lewis's  Romantic  Tales,  "  In 
this  world  all  things  pass  away  ;  blessed  be  Heaven,  and 
the  bitter  pangs  by  which  sometimes  it  is  pleased  to  recall 
its  wanderers,  even  our  passions  pass  away  I  "  And  thus 
it  happened  that  this  storm  also  was  laid  asleep  and  for- 
gotten, together  with  so  many  others  of  its  kind  that  have 
been,  and  that  shall  be  again,  so  long  as  man  is  man,  and 


202  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

woman  woman.  Meantime,  in  justification  of  a  passion  so 
profound,  one  \iould  be  glad  to  think  highly  of  the  lady 
that  inspired  it ;  and,  therefore,  I  heartily  hope  that  the  in- 
sults offered  to  her  memory  in  the  scandalous  "  Memoirs 
of  the  Due  de  Lauzun  "  are  mere  calumnies,  and  records 
rather  of  his  presumptuous  wishes  than  of  any  actual 
successes.* 

*  That  book,  I  am  aware,  is  generally  treated  as  a  forgery ;  but 
internal  evidence,  drawn  from  the  tone  and  quality  of  the  revelations 
there  made,  will  not  allow  me  to  think  it  altogether  such.  .  There  is 
an  abandon  and  carelessness  in  parts  which  mark  its  sincerity.  Its 
authenticity  I  cannot  doubt.  But  that  proves  nothing  for  the  truth 
of  the  particular  stories  which  it  contains.  A  book  of  scandalous 
and  defamatory  stories,  especially  where  the  writer  has  had  the  base- 
ness to  betray  the  confidence  reposed  in  his  honor  by  women,  and  to 
boast  of  favors  alleged  to  have  been  granted  him,  it  is  always  fair  to 
consider  as  ipso  facto  a  tissue  of  falsehoods ;  and  on  the  following 
argument,  that  these  are  exposures  which,  even  if  true,  none  but  the 
basest  of  men  would  have  made.  Being,  therefore,  on  the  hypothesis 
most  favorable  to  his  veracity,  the  basest  of  men,  the  author  is  self- 
denounced  as  vile  enough  to  have  forged  the  stories,  and  cannot  com- 
plain if  he  should  he  roundly  accused  of  doing  that  which  lie  has 
taken  pains  to  prove  himself  capable  of  doing.  This  way  of  arguing 
might  be  applied  with  fatal  effect  to  the  Due  de  Lauzun's  •'  Memoirs," 
supposing  them  written  with  a  view  to  publication.  But,  by  possi- 
bility, that  was  not  the  case.  The  Due  de  L.  terminated  his  profli- 
gate life,  as  is  well  known,  on  the  scaffold,  during  the  storms  of  the 
French  revolution ;  and  nothing  in  his  whole  career  won  him  so 
much  credit  as  the  way  in  which  he  closed  it;  for  he  went  to  his 
death  with  a  romantic  carelessness,  and  even  gayety  of  demeanor. 
His  "  Memoirs  "  were  not  published  by  himself:  the  publication  was 
posthumous  ;  and  by  whom  authorized,  or  for  what  purpose,  is  not 
exactly  known.  Probably  the  manuscript  fell  into  mercenary  hands, 
and  was  published  merely  on  a  speculation  of  pecuniary  gain  From 
some  passages,  however,  I  cannot  but  infer  that  the  writer  did  not 
mean  to  bring  it  before  the  public,  but  wrote  it  rather  as  a  series  of  pri- 
vate memoranda,  to  aid  his  own  recollection  of  circumstances  and 
dates.  The  Due  de  Lauzun's  account  of  his  intrigue  with  Lady 
Sarah  goes  so  far  as  to  allege,  that  he  rode  down  in  disguise,  from 


I    ENTER    THE    WOKLD.  203 

However,  to  leave  dissertation  behind  me,  and  to  re- 
sume the  thread  of  my  narrative,  an  incident,  which  about 
this  period  impressed  me  even  more  profoundly  than  my 
introduction  to  a  royal  presence,  was  my  first  visit  to 
London. 

London  to  Sir  Charles  B.'s  country  seat,  agreeably  to  a  previous  as- 
signation, and  that  he  was  admitted,  by  that  lady's  confidential  at- 
tendant, tlirough  a  back  staircase,  at  the  time  when  Sir  Charles  (a 
fox  hunter,  but  a  man  of  the  highest  breeding  and  fashion)  was  him- 
self at  home,  and  occupied  in  the  duties  of  hospitality. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  NATION   OF  LONDON. 

It  was  a  most  heavenly  day  in  May  of  this  year  (1800) 
when  I  first  beheld  and  first  entered  this  mighty  wilder- 
ness, the  city  —  no,  not  the  city,  but  the  nation  —  of  Lon- 
don. Often  since  then,  at  distances  of  two  and  three  hun- 
dred miles  or  more  from  this  colossal  emporium  of  men, 
wealth,  arts,  and  intellectual  power,  have  I  felt  the  sublime 
expression  of  her  enormous  magnitude  in  one  simple  form 
of  ordinary  occurrence,  viz.,  in  the  vast  droves  of  cattle, 
suppose  upon  the  great  north  roads,  all  with  their  heads  di- 
rected to  London,  and  expounding  the  size  of  the  attracting 
body,  together  with  the  force  of  its  attractive  power,  by  the 
never-ending  succession  of  these  droves,  and  the  remote- 
ness from  the  capital  of  the  lines  upon  which  they  Avere 
moving.  A  suction  so  powerful,  felt  along  radii  so  vast, 
and  a  consciousness,  at  the  same  time,  that  upon  other 
radii  still  more  vast,  both  by  land  and  by  sea,  the  same 
suction  is  operating,  night  and  day,  summer  and  winter, 
and  hurrying  forever  into  one  centre  the  infinite  means 
needed  for  her  infinite  purposes,  and  the  endless  tributes  to 
the  skill  or  tc  the  luxury  of  her  endless  population,  crowds 
the  imagination  with  a  pomp  to  which  there  is  nothing 
corresponding  upon  this  planet,  either  amongst  the  things 

204 


THE  NATION  OF  LONDON.  205 

that  have  been  or  the  thhigs  that  are.  Or,  if  any  excep- 
tion there  is,  it  must  be  sought  in  ancient  Rome.*  We, 
upon  this  occasion,  were  in  an  open  carriage,  and,  chiefly 
(as   I  imagine)  to  avoid  the  dust,  we  approached  London 

*  "  Ancient  Rome  ."  —  Vast,  however,  as  the  London  is  of  this  day,  I 
incline  to  thinlv  that  it  is  below  the  Rome  of  Trajan.  It  has  long 
been  a  settled  opinion  amongst  scholars,  that  the  computations  of  Lip- 
sius,  on  this  point,  were  prodigiously  overcharged ;  and  formerly  I 
shared  in  that  belief.  But  closer  study  of  the  question,  and  a  labo- 
rious collation  of  the  different  data,  (for  any  single  record,  independ- 
ently considered,  can  here  establish  nothing,)  have  satisfied  me  that 
Lipsius  was  nearer  the  truth  than  his  critics ;  and  that  the  Roman 
population  of  every  class  —  slaves,  aliens,  peoples  of  the  suburbs,  in- 
cluded —  lay  between  four  and  six  millions  ;  in  which  case  the  London 
of  1833,  which  counts  more  than  a  million  and  a  half,  but  less  than 
two  millions,  [Note.  —  Our  present  London  of  1 853  counts  two  millions, 
phis  as  many  thousands  as  there  are  days  in  the  year,]  may  be  taken, 
xura  n^.txruc,  as  lying  between  one  fourth  and  one  third  of  Rome.  To 
discuss  this  question  thoroughly  would  require  a  separate  memoir, 
for  which,  after  all,  there  are  not  sufficient  materials:  meantime  I 
will  make  this  remark:  That  the  ordinary  computations  of  a  million, 
or  a  million  and  a  quarter,  derived  from  the  surviving  accounts  of  the 
different  "  regions,"  apply  to  Rome  ivithin  the  Pomairiura,  and  are, 
therefore,  no  more  valid  for  the  total  Rome  of  Trajan's  time,  stretch- 
ing so  many  miles  beyond  it,  than  the  bills  of  mortality  for  what  is 
technically  "  London  within  the  walls  "  can  serve  at  this  day  as  a  base 
for  estimating  the  population  of  that  total  London  which  we  mean  and 
presume  in  our  daily  conversation.  Secondly^  even  for  the  Rome 
within  these  limits  the  computations  ai'e  not  commensurate,  by  not 
allowing  for  the  prodigious  licifiht  of  the  houses  in  Rome,  which  much 
transcended  that  of  modern  cities.  On  this  last  point  I  will  translate 
a  remarkable  sentence  from  the  Greek  rhetorician  Aristides,  [Note.  — 
Aclius  Aristides,  Greek  by  his  birth,  who  flourished  in  the  time  of  the 
Antonines;]  to  some  readers  it  will  be  new  and  interesting:  "And, 
as  oftentimes  we  see  that  a  man  who  greatly  excels  others  in  bulk  and 
strength  is  not  content  with  any  display,  however  ostentatious,  of  his 
powers,  short  of  that  where  he  is  exliibited  surmounting  himself  with 
a  pyramid  of  other  men,  one  set  standing'  upon  the  shoulders  of  an- 
other, so  also  this  city,  stretching  forth  her  foundations  over  areas  so 


206  AUTOBIOGRArHIC    SKETCHES. 

by  rural  lanes,  where  any  such  could  be  found,  or,  at  least, 
along  by-roads,  quiet  and  shady,  collateral  to  the  main 
roads.  In  that  mode  of  approach  we  missed  some  fea- 
tures of  the  sublimity  belonging  to  any  of  the  corn- 
vast,  is  yet  not  satisfied  with  those  superficial  dimensions  ;  i^ai  contents 
her  not ;  but  upon  one  city  rearing  another  of  corresponding  propor- 
tions, and  upon  that  another,  pile  resting  upon  pile,  houses  overlaying 
houses,  in  aerial  succession ;  so,  and  by  similar  steps,  she  achieves  a 
character  of  architecture  justifying,  as  it  were,  the  very  promise  of 
her  name  ;  and  with  reference  to  that  name,  and  its  Grecian  meaning, 
we  may  say,  that  here  nothing  meets  our  eyes  in  any  direction  but 
mere  Rome!  Ro/ne!"  [Note. —  This  word  ' Fwintj^  (Rome,)  on  which 
the  rhetorician  plays,  is  the  common  Greek  term  for  strength.]  "  And 
hence,"  says  Aristides,  "  I  derive  the  following  conclusion :  that  if 
any  one,  decomposing  this  series  of  strata,  were  disposed  to  unsheli,  as 
it  were,  this  existing  Rome  from  its  present  crowded  and  towering 
coacervations,  and,  thus  degrading  these  aerial  Romes,  were  to  plant 
them  on  the  ground,  side  by  side,  in  orderly  succession,  according  to 
all  appearance,  the  whole  vacant  area  of  Italy  would  be  filled  with 
these  dismantled  stories  of  Rome,  and  we  should  be  presented  with 
the  spectacle  of  one  continuous  city,  stretching  its  labyrinthine  pomp 
to  the  shores  of  the  Adriatic."  This  is  so  far  from  being  meant  as  a 
piece  of  rhetoric,  that,  on  the  very  contrary,  the  whole  purpose  is  to 
substitute  for  a  vague  and  rhetorical  expression  of  the  Roman  gran- 
deur one  of  a  more  definite  character  —  viz.,  by  presenting  its  dimen- 
sions in  a  new  form,  and  supposing  the  city  to  be  uncrested,  as  it  were ; 
its  upper  tiers  to  be  what  the  sailors  call  unshipped ;  and  the  dethroned 
stories  to  be  all  drawn  up  in  rank  and  file  upon  the  ground;  accord- 
ing to  which  assumption  he  implies  that  the  city  would  stretch  from 
the  mare  Superum  to  the  mare  Inferum,  i.  e.,  from  the  sea  of  Tuscany 
to  the  Adriatic. 

The  fact  is,  as  Casaubon  remarked,  upon  occasion  of  a  ridiculous 
blunder  in  estimating  the  largesses  of  a  Roman  emperor,  that  the 
error  on  most  questions  of  Roman  policy  or  institutions  tends  not,  as 
is  usual,  in  the  direction  of  excess,  but  of  defect.  All  things  were 
colossal  there ;  and  the  probable,  as  estimated  upon  our  modern  scale, 
is  not  unfrequently  the  impossible,  as  regarded  Roman  habits.  Lip- 
sius  certainly  erred  extravagantly  at  times,  and  was  a  rash  speculator 
on  many  subjects  ;  witness  his  books  on  the  Roman  amphitheatres ;  but 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  207 

nion  approaches  upon  a  main  road  ;  we  missed  the  whirl 
and  the  uproar,  the  tumult  and  the  agitation,  which  con- 
tinually thicken  and  thicken  throughout  the  last  dozen 
miles  before  you  reach  the  suburbs.  Already  at  three 
stages'  distance,  (say  40  miles  from  London,)  upon  some 
of  the  greatest  roads,  the  dim  presentiment  of  some  vast 
capital  reaches  you  obscurely  and  like  a  misgiving.  This 
blind  sympathy  with  a  mighty  but  unseen  object,  some  vast 
magnetic  range  of  Alps,  in  your  neighborhood,  continues 
to  increase  you  know  not  how.  Arrived  at  the  last  station 
for  changing  horses,  Barnet,  suppose,  on  one  of  the  north 
roads,  or  Hounslow  on  the  western,  you  no  longer  think 
(as  in  all  other  places)  of  naming  the  next  stage  ;  nobody 
says,  on  pulling  up,  "  Horses  on  to  London" —  that  would 
sound  ludicrous  ;  one  mighty  idea  broods  over  all  minds, 
making  it  impossible  to  suppose  any  other  destination. 
Launched  upon  this  final  stage,  you  soon  begin  to  feel 
yourself  entering  the  stream  as  it  were  of  a  Norwegian 
maelstrom  ;  and  the  stream  at  length  becomes  the  rush  of 
a  cataract.  What  is  meant  by  the  Latin  word  trepidotio  ? 
Not  any  thing  peculiarly  connected  with  panic  ;  it  belongs 
as  much  to  the  hurrying  to  and  fro  of  a  coming  battle  as 
of  a  coming  flight ;  to  a  marriage  festival  as  much  as  to  a 
massacre  ;  agitation  is  the  nearest  English  word.  This 
trepidation  increases  both  audibly  and  visibly  at  every  half 

not  on  the  magnitude  of  Rome,  or  the  amount  of  its  population.  I 
will  add,  upon  this  subject,  that  the  whole  political  economy  of  the 
ancients,  if  we  except  Boeckh's  accurate  investigations,  (Die  Staafs- 
hnnshaltung  der  Atheiier,]  which,  properly  speaking,  cannot  be  called 
political  economy,  is  a  mine  into  which  scarce  a  single  shaft  has  yet 
been  sunk.  But  I  must  also  add,  that  every  thing  will  depend  upon 
collation  of  facts,  and  the  bringing  of  indirect  notices  into  immediate 
juxtaposition,  so  as  to  throw  light  on  each  other.  Direct  and  positive 
information  there  is  little  on  these  topics  j  and  that  little  has  been 
gleanfjd. 


208  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

mile,  pretty  much  as  one  may  suppose  the  roar  of  Niagara 
and  the  thrilling  of  the  ground  to  grow  upon  the  senses  in 
the  last  ten  miles  of  approach,  with  the  wind  in  its  favor, 
until  at  length  it  would  absorb  and  extinguish  all  other 
sounds  whatsoever.  Finally,  for  miles  before  you  reach  a 
suburb  of  London  such  as  Islington,  for  instance,  a  last 
great  sign  and  augury  of  the  immensity  which  belongs  to 
the  coming  metropolis  forces  itself  upon  the  dullest 
observer,  in  the  growing  sense  of  his  own  utter  insig- 
nificance. Every  where  else  in  England,  you  yourself, 
horses,  carriage,  attendants,  (if  you  travel  with  any,)  are 
regarded  with  attention,  perhaps  even  curiosity  ;  at  all 
events,  you  are  seen.  But  after  passing  the  final  posthouse 
on  every  avenue  to  London,  for  the  latter  ten  or  twelve 
miles,  you  become  aware  that  you  are  no  longer  noticed  : 
nobody  sees  you  ;  nobody  hears  you  ;  nobody  regards  you  ; 
you  do  not  even  regard  yonrself.  In  fact,  how  should  you, 
at  the  moment  of  first  ascertaining  your  own  total  unim- 
portance in  the  sum  of  things?  —  a  poor  shivering  unit  in 
the  aggregate  of  human  life.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
whatever  manner  of  man  you  were,  or  seemed  to  be,  at 
starting,  squire  or  "  squireen,"  lord  or  lordling,  and  how- 
ever related  to  that  city,  hamlet,  or  solitary  house  from 
which  yesterday  or  to-day  you  slipped  your  cable,  be- 
yond disguise  you  find  yourself  but  one  wave  in  a  total  At- 
lantic, one  plant  (and  a  parasitical  plant  besides,  needing 
alien  props)  in  a  forest  of  America. 

These  are  feelings  which  do  not  belong  by  preference 
to  thoughtful  people  —  far  less  to  people  merely  senti- 
mental. No  man  ever  was  left  to  himself  for  the  first 
time  in  the  streets,  as  yet  unknown,  of  London,  but  he 
must  have  been  saddened  and  mortified,  perhaps  terrified, 
by  the  sense  of  desertion  and  utter  loneliness  which  belong 
to  his  situation.     No  loneliness  can   be  like  that  which 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  209 

vvciglis  upon  the  heart  in  the  centre  of  faces  never  ending, 
without  voice  or  utterance  for  him  ;  eyes  innumerable,  that 
have  "no  specuhition"  in  their  orbs  which /ie  can  under- 
stand ;  and  hurrying  figures  of  men  and  women  weaving 
to  and  fro,  with  no  apparent  purposes  intelligible  to  a 
stranger,  seeming  like  a  mask  of  maniacs,  or,  oftentimes, 
like  a  pageant  of  phantoms.  The  great  length  of  the 
streets  in  many  quarters  of  London  ;  the  continual  opening 
of  transient  glimpses  into  other  vistas  equally  far  stretch- 
ing, going  off  at  right  angles  to  the  one  which  you  are 
traversing  ;  and  the  murky  atmosphere  which,  settling  upon 
the  remoter  end  of  every  long  avenue,  wraps  its  termina- 
tion in  gloom  and  uncertainty, —  all  these  are  circumstances 
aiding  that  sense  of  vastness  and  illimitable  proportions 
which  forever  brood  over  the  aspect  of  London  in  its  in- 
terior. Much  of  the  feeling  which  belongs  to  the  outside 
of  London,  in  its  approaches  for  the  last  few  miles,  I  had 
lost,  in  consequence  of  the  stealthy  route  of  by-roads,  ly- 
ing near  Uxbridge  and  Watford,  through  which  we  crept 
into  the  suburbs.  But  for  that  reason,  the  more  abrupt  and 
startling  had  been  the  effect  of  emerging  somewhere 
into  the  Edgeware  Road,  and  soon  afterwards  into  the  very 
streets  of  London  itself;  through  what  streets,  or  even 
what  quarter  of  London,  is  now  totally  obliterated  from  my 
mind,  having  perhaps  never  been  comprehended.  All  that 
I  remember  is  one  monotonous  awe  and  blind  sense  of 
mysterious  grandeur  and  Babylonian  confusion,  which 
seemed  to  pursue  and  to  invest  the  whole  equipage  of  human 
life,  as  we  moved  for  nearly  two  *  hours  through  streets  ; 
sometimes  brought  to  anchor  for  ten  minutes  or  more  by 

*  "  Two  hours."  —  This  slow  progress  must,  however,  in  part  be 

ascribed  to  Mr.  Gr 's  non-acquaintance  with  the  roads,  both  town 

and  rural,  along  the  whole  line  of  our  progress  from  Uxbridge. 
14 


210  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

what  is  technically  called  a  "lock,"  that  is,  a  line  of  car- 
riages of  every  description  inextricably  massed,  and  ob- 
strncting  each  other,  far  as  the  eye  could  stretch  ;  and  then, 
as  if  under  an  enchanter's  rod,  the  "  lock "  seemed  to 
thaw  ;  motion  spread  with  the  fluent  race  of  light  or  sound 
through  the  whole  ice-bound  mass,  until  the  subtile  influence 
reached  us  also,  who  were  again  absorbed  into  the  great 
rush  of  flying  carriages  ;  or,  at  times,  we  turned  otT  into 
some  less  tumultuous  street,  but  of  the  same  mile-long 
character;  and,  finally,  drawing  up  about  noon,  we  alighted 
at  some  place,  which  is  as  little  within  my  distinct  remem- 
brance as  the  route  by  which  we  reached  it. 

For  what  had  we  come  ?  To  see  London.  And  what 
were   the  limits  within  which  we   proposed  to  crowd  that 

liltle  feat?     At  five  o'clock  we  were  to  dine  at  Porters , 

a  seat  of  Lord  Westport's  grandfather;  and,  from  the  dis- 
tance, it  was  necessary  that  we  should  leave  London  at 
half  past  three  ;  so  that  a  little  more  than  three  hours  were 
all  we  had  for  London.  Our  charioteer,  my  friend's  tutor, 
was  summoned  away  from  us  on  business  until  that  hour ; 
and  we  were  left,  therefore,  entirely  to  ourselves  and  to 
our  own  skill  in  turning  the  time  to  the  best  account,  for 
contriving  (if  such  a  thing  were  possible)  to  do  something 
or  other  which,  by  any  fiction  of  courtesy,  or  constructively, 
so  as  to  satisfy  a  lawyer,  or  in  a  sense  sufBcient  to  win  a 
wao-er,  might  be  taken  and  received  for  having  "  seen 
London." 

What  could  be  done  ?  We  sat  down,  I  remember,  in  a 
.  mood  of  despondency,  to  consider.  The  spectacles  were 
too  many  by  thousands  ;  inopes  nos  copia  fecit ;  our  very 
wealth  made  us  poor  ;  and  the  choice  was  distracted.  But 
which  of  them  all  could  be  thought  general  or  represen- 
tative enough  to  stand  for  the  universe  of  London  ?  We 
could  not  traverse  the  whole  circumference  of  this  mighty 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  211 

orb  ;  that  was  clear  ;  and,  therefore,  the  next  best  thing  was 
to  place  ourselves  as  much  as  possible  in  some  relation  to  the 
spectacles  of  London,  which  might  answer  to  the  centre. 
Yet  how  ?  That  sounded  well  and  metaphysical ;  but  what 
did  it  mean  if  acted  upon?  What  was  the  centre  of  London 
for  any  purpose  whatever,  latitudinarian  or  longitudinarian, 
literary,  social,  or  mercantile,  geographical,  astronomical, 
or  (as  Mrs.  Malaprop  kindly  suggests)  diabolical  ?  Ap- 
parently that  we  should  stay  at  our  inn  ;  for  in  that  way  we 
seemed  best  to  distribute  our  presence  equally  amongst 
all,  viz.,  by  going  to  none  in  particular. 

Three  times  in  my  life  I  have  had  my  taste  —  that  is,  my 
sense  of  proportions  —  memorably  outraged.  Once  was  by 
a  painting  of  Cape  Horn,  which  seemed  almost  treasonably 
below  its  rank  and  office  in  this  world,  as  the  terminal 
abutment  of  our  mightiest  continent,  and  also  the  hinge,  as 
it  were,  of  our  greatest  circumnavigations  —  of  all,  in  fact, 
which  can  be  called  classical  circumnavigations.  To  have 
"  doubled  Cape  Horn  "  —  at  one  time,  what  a  sound  it  had  ! 
yet  how  ashamed  we  should  be  if  that  cape  were  ever  to 
be  seen  from  the  moon  !  A  party  of  Englishmen,  I  have 
heard,  went  up  Mount  iEtna,  during  the  night,  to  be  ready 
for  sunrise  —  a  common  practice  with  tourists  both  in  Swit- 
zerland, Wales,  Cumberland,  &c.  ;  but,  as  all  must  see 
who  take  the  trouble  to  reflect,  not  likely  to  repay  the 
trouble  ;  seeing  that  every  tbing  which  otTers  s.  picture,  when 
viewed  from  a  station  nearly  horizontal,  becomes  a  mere 
7nap  to  an  eye  placed  at  an  elevation  of  3000  feet  above  it ; 
and  so  thought,  in  the  sequel,  the  vEtna  party.  The  sun, 
indeed,  rose  visibly,  and  not  more  apparelled  in  clouds 
than  was  desirable  ;  yet  so  disappointed  were  they,  and  so 
disgusted  with  the  sun  in  particular,  that  they  unanimously 
hissed  him  ;  though,  of  r-)urse,  it  was  useless  to  cry  "  Off! 
off!  "     Here,  however,  the  fault  was  in  their  own  erroneous 


212  ATTTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

expectations,  and  not  in  the  sun,  who,  doubtless,  did  his 
best.  For,  generally,  a  sunrise  and  a  sunset  ought  to  be 
seen  from  the  valley,  or  at  most  horizontally.*  But  as  to 
Cape  Horn,  that  (by  comparison  with  its  position  and  its 
functions)  was  really  a  disgrace  to  the  planet ;  it  is  not  the 
spectator  that  is  in  fault  here,  but  the  object  itself,  the 
Birmingham  cape.  For,  consider,  it  is  not  only  the  "  specu- 
lar mount,'''  keeping  watch  and  ward  over  a  sort  of  trinity 
of  oceans,  and,  by  all  tradition,  the  circumnavigator's  gate 
of  entrance  to  the  Pacific,  but  also  it  is  the  temple  of  the 
god  Terminus  for  all  the  Americas.  So  that,  in  relation  to 
such  dignities,  it  seemed  to  me,  in  the  drawing,  a  make- 
shift, put  up  by  a  carpenter,  until  the  true  Cape  Horn 
should  be  ready  ;  or,  perhaps,  a  drop  scene  from  the  opera 
house.  This  w^as  one  case  of  disproportion  :  the  others 
were  —  the  final  and  ceremonial  valediction  of  Garrick,  on 
retiring  from  his  profession  ;  and  the  Pall  Mall  inaugura- 
tion  of  George   IV.    on  the   day  of  his  accession  f  to   the 

*  Hence  it  may  be  said,  that  nature  regulates  our  position  for  such 
spect.icles,  without  any  intermeddling  of  ours.  When,  indeed,  a 
mountain  stands,  like  Snowdon  or  Great  Gavel  in  Cumberland,  at  the 
centre  of  a  mountainous  region,  it  is  not  denied  that,  at  some  seasons, 
when  the  early  beams  strike  through  great  vistas  in  the  hills,  splendid 
effects  of  light  and  shade  are  produced ;  strange,  however,  rather 
tlian  beautiful.  But  from  an  insulated  mountain,  or  one  upon  the 
outer  ring  of  the  hilly  tract,  such  as  Skiddaw,  in  Cumberland,  the 
first  effect  is  to  translate  the  landscape  from  a  picture  into  a  ?««/>, 
and  the  total  result,  as  a  celebrated  author  once  said,  is  the  injinitij  of 
littleness. 

t  Accession  was  it,  or  his  proclamation  1  The  case  was  this  : 
About  the  middle  of  the  day,  the  king  came  out  into  the  portico  of 
Carlton  House;  and  addressing  himself  (addressing  his  gestures,  I 
mean)  to  the  assemblage  of  people  in  Pall  Mall,  he  bowed  repeatedly 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  then  retired.  I  mean  no  disrespect 
to  tliut  prince  in  recalling  those  circumstances;  no  doubt,  he  acted 
upon  the  suggestion   of  others,  and   perhaps,  also,  utidcr  a  sincere 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  213 

tlirone.  The  utter  trrelation,  in  both  cases,  of  the  audience 
to  the  scene,  (audu  nee,  I  say,  as  say  we  must,  for  the  sum 
of  the  spectators  in  the  second  instance,  as  well  as  of  the 
auditors  in  the  first,)  threw  upon  each  a  ridicule  not  to  be 
effaced.  It  is  in  any  case  impossible  for  an  actor  to  say 
words  of  farewell  to  those  for  whom  he  really  designs  his 
farewell.  He  cannot  bring  his  true  object  before  himself. 
To  whom  is  it  that  he  would  offer  his  last  adieus .'  We 
are  told  by  one  —  who,  if  he  loved  Garrick,  certainly  did  not 
love  Garrick's  profession,  nor  would  even,  through  him, 
have  paid  it  any  undue  compliment  —  that  the  retirement  of 
this  great  artist  had  "  eclipsed  the  gayety  of  nations."  To 
nations,  then,  to  his  own  generation,  it  was  that  he  owed 
his  farewell  ;  but,  of  a  generation,  what  organ  is  theie 
which  can  sue  or  be  sued,  that  can  thank  or  be  thanked  ? 
Neither  by  fiction  nor  by  delegation  can  you  bring  their 
bodies  into  court.  A  king's  audience,  on  the  other  hand> 
might  be  had  as  an  authorized  representative  body.  But, 
when  we  consider  the  composition  of  a  casual  and  chance 
auditory,  whether  in  a  street  or  a  theatre,  —  secondly,  the 
small  size  of  a  modern  audience,  even  in  Drury  Lane,  (4500 
at  the  most,)  not  by  one  eightieth  part  the  complement  of 
the  Circus  Maximus, —  most  of  all,  when  we  consider  the 
want  of  symmetry  or  commensurateness,  to  any  extended 
duration  of  time,  in  the  acts  of  such  an  audience,  which 
acts  lie  in  the  vanishing  expressions  of  its  vanishing  emo- 
tions, —  acts  so  essentially  fugitive,  even  when  organized 

emotion  on  witnessing  the  enthusiasm  of  those  outside ;  but  ^^nf  could 
not  cure  the  oi'iginal  absurdity  of  recognizing  as  a  representative 
audience,  clothed  with  the  national  functions  of  recognizing  himself,  a 
chance  gathering  of  passengers  through  a  single  street,  between  whom 
and  any  mob  from  his  own  stables  and  kitchens  there  could  be  no 
essential  diflereuce  which  logic,  or  law,  or  constitutional  principle 
could  recognize. 


214  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

into  an  art  and  a  tactical  system  of  imbrices  and  loinbi,  (as 
they  were  at  Alexandria,  and  afterwards  at  the  Neapolitan 
and  Roman  theatres,)  that  they  could  not  protect  them- 
selves from  dying  in  the  very  moment  of  their  birth, —  lay- 
ing together  all  these  considerations,  we  see  the  incongruity 
of  any  audience,  so  constitued,  to  any  purpose  less  evanes- 
cent than  their  own  tenure  of  existence. 

Just  such  in  disproportion  as  these  cases  had  severally 
been,  was  our  present  problem  in  relation  to  our  time  or 
other  means  for  accomplishing  it.  In  debating  the  matter, 
we  lost  half  an  hour  ;  but  at  length  we  reduced  the  question 
to  a  choice  between  Westminster  Abbey  and  St.  PauTs 
Cathedral.  I  know  not  that  we  could  have  chosen  better. 
The  rival  edifices,  as  we  understood  from  the  waiter,  were 
about  equidistant  from  our  own  station  ;  but,  being  too  re- 
mote from  each  other  to  allow  of  our  seeing  both,  "  we 
tossed  up,"  to  settle  the  question  between  the  elder  lady 
and  the  younger.  "  Heads"  came  up,  which  stood  for  the 
abbey.  But,  as  neither  of  us  was  quite  satisfied  with  this 
decision,  we  agreed  to  make  another  appeal  to  the  wisdom 
of  chance,  second  thoughts  being  best.  This  time  the 
cathedral  turned  up  ;  and  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  with  us, 
the  having  seen  London  meant  having  seen  St.  Paul's. 

The  first  view  of  St.  Paul's,  it  may  be  supposed,  over- 
whelmed us  with  awe  ;  and  I  did  not  at  that  time  imagine 
that  the  sense  of  magnitude  could  be  more  deeply  im- 
pressed. One  thing  interrupted  our  pleasure.  The  superb 
objects  of  curiosity  within  the  cathedral  were  shown  for 
separate  fees.  There  were  seven,  I  think  ;  and  any  one 
could  be  seen  independently  of  the  rest  for  a  few  pence. 
The  wliole  amount  was  a  trifle  ;  fourteen  pence,  I  think; 
but  we  were  followed  by  a  sort  of  persecution  —  "  Would 
we  not  see  the  bell .-'  "  "  Would  we  not  see  the  model }  " 
"  Surely  we  would  not  go  away  witliout  visiting  the  whis- 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  215 

pering  gallery  ?  "  —  solicitations  which  troubled  the  silence 
and  sanctity  of  the  place,  and  must  tease  others  as  it  then 
teased  us,  who  wished  to  contemplate  in  quiet  this  great 
monument  of  the  national  grandeur,  which  was  at  that  very 
time  *  beginning  to  take  a  station  also  in  the  land,  as  a  de- 
pository for  the  dust  of  her  heroes.  What  struck  us  most 
in  the  whole  interior  of  the  pile  was  the  view  taken  from 
the  spot  immediately  under  the  dome,  being,  in  fact,  the 
very  same  which,  five  years  afterwards,  received  the  re- 
mains of  Lord  Nelson.  In  one  of  the  aisles  a:oing  off  from 
this  centre,  we  saw  the  flags  of  France,  Spain,  and  Holland, 
the  whole  trophies  of  the  war,  swinging  pompously,  and 
expanding  their  massy  draperies,  slowly  and  heavily,  in  the 
upper  gloom,  as  they  were  swept  at  intervals  by  currents 
of  air.  At  this  moment  we  were  provoked  by  the  show- 
man at  our  elbow  renewing  his  vile  iteration  of  "  Two- 
pence, gentlemen  ;  no  more  than  twopence  for  each  ; "  and 
so  on,  until  we  left  the  place.  The  same  complaint  has 
been  often  made  as  to  Westminster  Abbey.  Where  the 
wrong  lies,  or  where  it  commences,  I  know  not.  Certainly 
I  nor  any  man  can  have  a  right  to  expect  that  the  poor 
men  who  attended  us  should  give  up  their  time  for  noth- 
ing, or  even  to  be  angry  with  them  for  a  sort  of  persecution, 
on  the  degree  of  which  possibly  might  depend  the  comfort 
of  their  own  families.  Thoughts  of  famishing  children  at 
home  leave  little  room  for  nice  regards  of  delicacy  abroad. 
The  individuals,  therefore,  might  or  might  not  be  blamable. 
But  in  any  case,  the  system  is  palpably  wrong.  The  nation 
is  entitled  to  a  free  enjoyment  of  its  own  public  monu- 
ments ;  not  free  only  in  the  sense  of  being  gratuitous,  but 
free  also  from  the  molestation  of  showmen,  with  their  im- 
perfect knowledge  and  their  vulgar  sentiment. 

*  Ah-cady  monuments  had  been  voted  by  the  House  of  Commons 
in  this  cathedral,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  they  were  nearly  completed, 
to  two  captains  who  had  fallen  at  the  Nile. 


216  AUTOBIOGEAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Yet,  after  all,  what  is  this  system  of  restriction  a.x\i. 
annoyance,  compared  with  that  which  operates  on  the  use  of 
the  national  libraries?  or  f/tr//,  again,  to  the  system  of  exclu- 
sion from  some  of  these,  where  an  absolute  interdict  lies 
upon  any  use  at  all  of  that  which  is  confessedly  national 
property  ?  Books  and  manuscripts,  which  were  originally 
collected  and  formally  bequeathed  to  the  public,  under  the 
generous  and  noble  idea  of  giving  to  future  generations 
advantages  which  the  collector  had  himself  not  enjoyed, 
and  liberating  them  from  obstacles  in  the  pursuit  of  knowl- 
edge which  experience  had  bitterly  imprinted  upon  his 
own  mind,  are  at  this  day  locked  up  as  absolutely  against 
me,  you,  or  any  body,  as  collections  confessedly  private. 
Nay,  far  more  so  ;  for  most  private  collectors  of  eminence, 
as  the  late  Mr.  Hebcr,  for  instance,  have  been  distinguished 
for  liberality  in  lending  the  rarest  of  their  books  to  those 
who  knew  how  to  use  them  with  effect.  But,  in  the  cases 
I  now  contemplate,  the  whole  funds  for  supporting  the 
proper  offices  attached  to  a  library,  such  as  librarians,  sub- 
librarians, &c.,  which  of  themselves  (and  without  the  ex- 
press verbal  evidence  of  the  founder's  will)  presume  apuhlic 
in  the  daily  use  of  the  books,  else  they  are  superfluous, 
have  been  applied  to  the  creation  of  lazy  sinecures,  in  be- 
half of  persons  expressly  charged  with  the  care  of  shutting 
out  the  public.  Therefore,  it  is  true,  they  are  7wt  sine- 
cures ;  for  that  one  care,  vigilantly  to  keep  out  the  public,* 

*  This  place  suggests  the  mention  of  another  crying  abuse  con- 
nected with  this  subject.  In  the  year  1811  or  1810  came  unrler  par- 
liamentary notice  and  revision  the  law  of  copyright.  In  some  excel- 
lent pamphlets  drawn  forth  by  the  occasion,  from  Mr.  Duppa,  for 
instance,  and  several  others,  the  whole  subject  was  well  probed,  and 
many  aspects,  little  noticed  by  the  public,  were  exposed  of  that 
extreme  injustice  attached  to  the  law  as  it  then  stood.  The  several 
monopolies  connected  with  books  were  noticed  a  little;  and  not  a 
little  notice  was  taken  of  the  oppressive  privilege  with  which  cer- 
tain public  libraries   (at  that  time,  I  think,  eleven)  were  invested, 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  217 

they  do  take  upon  themselves  ;  and  why  ?  A  man  loving 
books,  like  myself,  might  suppose  that  their  motive  was 
the  ungenerous  one  of  keeping  the  books  to  themselves. 
Far  from  it.     In  several   instances,  they  will  as   little  use 

of  exacting,  severally,  a  copy  of  each  new  book  published.  This 
downright  robbery  was  palliated  by  some  members  of  the  House  in 
that  day,  under  the  notion  of  its  being  a  sort  of  exchange,  or  quid 
]>ro  quo  in  return  for  the  relief  .obtained  by  the  statute  of  Queen 
Anne  —  tlie  first  which  recognized  literary  property.  "  For,"  argued 
they,  "previously  to  that  statute,  supposing  your  book  pirated,  at 
common  law  you  could  obtain  redress  only  for  each  copy  proved  to 
have  been  sold  by  the  pirate ;  and  that  might  not  be  a  thousandth 
part  of  the  actual  loss.  Now,  the  statute  of  Queen  Anne  granting 
you  a  general  redress,  upon  proof  that  a  piracy  had  been  com- 
mitted, you,  the  party  relieved,  were  bound  to  express  your  sense 
of  this  relief  by  a  return  made  to  the  public ;  and  the  public  is  here 
represented  by  the  great  endowed  libraries  of  the  seven  universities, 
the  British  Museum,"  &e.,  &c.  But  prima  facie,  this  was  that  selling 
of  justice  which  is  expressly  renounced  in  Magna  Charta;  and  why 
were  proprietors  of  copyright,  more  than  other  proprietors,  to  make  an 
"  acknowledgment "  for  their  rights  1  But  supposing  that  just,  why, 
especially,  to  the  given  public  bodies  1  Now,  for  my  part,  I  think 
that  this  admits  of  an  explanation  :  nine  tenths  of  the  authors  in 
former  days  lay  amongst  the  class  who  had  received  a  college  educa- 
tion ;  and  most  of  these,  in  their  academic  life,  had  benefited  largely 
by  old  endowments.  Giving  up,  therefore,  a  small  tribute  from  their 
copyright,  there  was  some  color  of  justice  in  supposing  that  they 
were  making  a  slight  acknowledgment  for  past  benefits  received,  and 
exactly  for  those  benefits  which  enabled  them  to  appear  witli  any 
ailvantage  as  authors.  So,  I  am  convinced,  the  "  servitude  "  first  arose, 
and  under  this  construction :  which,  even  for  those  days,  was  often  a 
fiction,  but  now  is  gcnerallv  such.  However,  be  the  origin  what  it 
may,  the  ground  upon  which  the  public  mind  in  1811  (that  small 
part  of  it,  at  least,  which  the  question  attracted)  reconciled  itself  to 
the  abuse  was  this  —  for  a  trivial  wrong,  they  alleged  (but  it  was 
tlien  shown  that  the  wrong  was  not  always  trivial)  one  great  good  is 
achieved,  viz.,  that  all  over  the  kingdoni  are  dispersed  eleven  great 
depositories,  in  which  all  persons  interested  may,  at  all  times,  be  sure 
of  finding  one  copy  of  every  book  published.     That  did  seem  a  great 


218  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

the  books  as  suffer  them  to  be  used.  And  jhus  the  whole 
plans  and  cares  of  the  good  (weighing  his  motives,  I  will 
say  of  the  pious)  founder  have  terminated  in  locking  up  and 
sequestering  a  large  collection  of  books,  some  being  great 

advantajre,  and  a  balance  in  point  of  utility  (if  none  in  point  of  jus- 
tice) to  the  wrong:  upon  which  it  grew.  But  now  mark  the  degree  in 
which  this  balancing  advantage  is  made  available.  1.  The  eleven 
bodies  are  not  equally  careful  to  exact  their  copies;  that  can  only  be 
done  by  retaining  an  agent  in  London  ;  and  this  agent  is  careless  about 
books  of  slight  money  value.  2.  Were  it  otherwise,  of  what  final 
avail  would  a  perfect  set  of  the  year's  productions  prove  to  a  public 
not  admitted  freely  to  the  eleven  libraries  ?  3.  But,  finally,  if  they 
were  admitted,  to  what  purpose  (as  regards  this  particular  advantage) 
under  the  following  custom,  which,  in  some  of  these  eleven  libraries, 
(possibly  in  all,)  was,  I  well  knew,  established:  annually  the  princi- 
pal librarian  weeded  the  annual  crop  of  all  such  books  as  displeased 
himself;  upon  which  two  questions  arise:  1.  Upon  what  principle  1 
2.  With  what  result  ?  I  answer  as  to  the  first,  that  in  this  lustration 
he  went  upon  no  pi-inciple  at  all,  but  his  own  caprice,  or  what  he 
called  his  own  discretion  ;  and  accordingly  it  is  a  fact  known  to  many 
as  well  as  myself,  that  a  book,  which  some  people  (and  certainly  not 
the  least  meditative  of  this  age)  have  pronounced  the  most  original 
work  of  modern  times,  was  actually  amongst  the  books  thus  degraded  ; 
it  was  one  of  those,  as  the  phrase  is,  tossed  "  into  the  basket ; "  and 
universally  this  fate  is  more  likely  to  befall  a  work  of  original  merit, 
which  disturbs  the  previous  way  of  thinking  and  feeling,  than  one  of 
timid  compliance  with  ordinary  models.  Secondly,  with  what  result  ? 
For  the  present,  the  degraded  books,  having  been  consigned  to  the 
basket,  were  forthwith  consigned  to  a  damp  cellar.  There,  at  any 
rate,  they  were  in  no  condition  to  be  consulted  by  the  public,  being 
piled  up  in  close  bales,  and  in  a  place  not  publicly  accessible.  But 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  sooner  or  later,  their  mouldering  condition 
would  be  made  an  argument  for  selling  them.  And  such,  when  we 
trace  the  operation  of  this  law  to  its  final  stage,  is  the  ultimate 
result  of  an  infringement  upon  private  rights  almost  unexampled  in 
any  other  part  of  our  civil  economy.  That  sole  beneficial  result,  for 
the  sake  of  which  some  legislators  were  willing  to  sanction  a  wrong 
otherwise  admitted  to  be  indefensible,  is  so  little  protected  and  secui^ed 
to  the  public,  that  it  is  first  of  all  placed  at  the  mercy  of  an  agent  iu 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  219 

rarities,  in  situations  where  they  are  not  accessible.  Had 
he  bequeathed  them  to  the  catacombs  of  Paris  or  of  Naples, 
he  couid  not  have  better  provided  for  their  virtual  extinc- 
tion. I  ask,  Does  no  action  at  common  law  lie  against  the 
promoters  of  such  enormous  abuses  ?  O  thou  fervent  re- 
former,—  whose  fatal  tread  he  that  puts  his  ear  to  the  ground 
may  hear  at  a  distance  coming  onwards  upon  every  road,  — 
if  too  surely  thou  wilt  work  for  me  and  others  irreparable 
wrong  and  suffering,  work  also  for  us  a  little  good  ;  this 
way  turn  the  great  hurricanes  and  levanters  of  thy  wrath  ; 
winnow  me  this  chaff;  and  let  us  enter  at  last  the  garners 
of  pure  wheat  laid  up  in  elder  days  for  our  benefit,  and 
which  for  two  centuries  have  been  closed  against  our  use  ! 
London  we  left  in  haste,  to  keep  an  engagement  of  some 
standing  at  the  Earl  Howe's,  my  friend's  grandfather. 
This  great  admiral,  who  had  filled  so  large  a  station  in  the 
public  eye,  being  the  earliest  among  the  naval  heroes  of 
England  in  the  first  war  of  the  revolution,  and  the  only 
one  of  noble  birth,  I  should  have  been  delighted  to  see  ;  St. 
Paul's,  and  its  naval  monuments  to  Captain  Riou  and  Cap- 
tain   ,  together  with  its  floating  pageantries  of  con- 
quered flags,  having  awakened  within  me,  in  a  form  of 
peculiar  solemnity,  those  patriotic  remembrances  of  past 
glories,  which  all  boys  feel  so  much  more  vividly  than  men 
can  do,  in  whom  the  sensibility  to  such  impressions  is 
blunted.  Lord  Howe,  however,  I  was  not  destined  to  see  ; 
he  had  died  about  a  year  before.     Another  death  there  had 

London,  whose  negligence  or  indifference  may  defeat  the  prorisiou 
altogether,  (I  know  a  publisher  of  a  splendid  botanical  work,  who  told 
me  that,  by  forbearing  to  attract  notice  to  it  within  the  statutable 
time,  he  saved  his  eleven  copies  ;)  and  placed  at  the  mercy  of  a  libra- 
rian, who  (or  any  one  of  his  successors)  may,  upon  a  motive  of  malice 
to  the  author  or  an  impulse  of  false  taste,  after  all  proscribe  any  part 
of  the  books  thus  dishonorably  acquired. 


220  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

been,  and  very  recently,  in  the  family,  and  under  circum- 
stances peculiarly  startling ;  and  the  spirits  of  the  whole 
house  were  painfully  depressed  by  that  event  at  the  time 
of  our  visit.  One  of  the  daughters,  a  younger  sister  of  my 
friend's  mother,  had  been  engaged  for  some  time  to  a 
Scottish  nobleman,  the  Earl  of  Morton,  much  esteemed 
by  the  royal  family.  The  day  was  at  length  fixed  for  the 
marriage  ;  and  about  a  fortnight  before  that  day  arrived, 
some  particular  dress  or  ornament  was  brought  to  Porters, 
in  which  it  was  designed  that  the  bride  should  appear  at 
the  altar.  The  fashion  as  to  this  point  has  often  varied ; 
but  at  that  time,  I  believe  the  custom  was  for  bridal  parties 
to  be  in  full  dress.  The  lady,  when  the  dress  arrived, 
was,  to  all  appearance,  in  good  health  ;  but,  by  one  of  those 
unaccountable  misgivings  which  are  on  record  in  so  many 
well-attested  cases,  (as  that,  for  example,  of  Andrew  Mar- 
velFs  father,)  she  said,  after  gazing  for  a  minute  or  two  at 
the  beautiful  dress,  firmly  and  pointedly,  "  So,  then,  that  is 
my  wedding  di-ess ;  and  it  is  expected  that  I  shall  wear  it 
on  the  17th  ;  but  I  shall  not ;  I  shall  never  wear  it.  On 
Thursday,  the  17th,  I  shall  be  dressed  in  a  shroud  !  "  All 
present  were  shocked  at  such  a  declaration,  which  the 
solemnity  of  the  lady's  manner  made  it  impossible  to  re- 
ceive as  a  jest.  The  countess,  her  mother,  even  reproved 
her  with  some  severity  for  the  words,  as  an  expression  of 
distrust  in  the  goodness  of  God.  The  bride  elect  made  no 
answer  but  by  sighing  heavily.  Within  a  fortnight,  all 
happened,  to  the  letter,  as  she  had  predicted.  She  was 
taken  suddenly  ill ;  she  died  about  three  days  before  the 
marriage  day,  and  was  finally  dressed  in  her  shroud, 
according  to  the  natural  course  of  the  funeral  arrange- 
ments, on  the  morning  that  was  to  have  been  the  wedding 
festival. 

Lord  Morton,  the  nobleman  thus  suddenly  and  remark- 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  221 

ably  bereaved  of  his  bride,  was  the  only  gentleman  who 
appeared  at  the  dinner  table.  He  took  a  particular  inter- 
est in  literature  ;  and  it  was,  in  fact,  through  his  kindness 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  found  myself  somewhat 
in  the  situation  of  a  "  lion.''''  The  occasion  of  Lord  Mor- 
ton's flattering  notice  was  a  particular  copy  of  verses  which 
had  gained  for  me  a  public  distinction  ;  not,  however,  I 
must  own,  a  very  brilliant  one ;  the  prize  awarded  to  me 
being  not  the  first,  nor  even  the  second,  —  what  on  the 
continent  is  called  the  accessit,  —  it  was  simply  the  third  ; 
and  that  fact,  stated  nakedly,  might  have  left  it  doubtful 
whether  I  were  to  be  considered  in  the  light  of  one  honored 
or  of  one  stigmatized.  However,  the  judges  in  this  case, 
■with  more  honesty,  or  more  self-distrust,  than  belongs  to 
most  adjudications  of  the  kind,  had  printed  the  first  three 
of  the  successful  essays.  Consequently,  it  was  left  open 
to  each  of  the  less  successful  candidates  to  benefit  by  any 
difference  of  taste  amongst  their  several  friends ;  and  7ni/ 
friends  in  particular,  with  the  single  and  singular  exception 
of  my  mother,  who  always  thought  her  own  children  infe- 
rior to  other  people's,  had  generally  assigned  the  palm  to 
myself.  Lord  Morton  protested  loudly  that  the  case  ad- 
mitted of  no  doubt ;  that  gross  injustice  had  been  done  me  ; 
and,  as  the  ladies  of  the  family  were  much  influenced  by 
his  opinion,  I  thus  came,  not  only  to  wear  the  laui'el  in 
their  estimation,  but  also  with  the  advantageous  addition 
of  having  suffered  some  injustice.  I  was  not  only  a  victor, 
but  a  victor  in  misfortune. 

At  this  moment,  looking  back  from  a  distance  of  fifty 
years  upon  those  trifles,  it  may  well  be  supposed  that  I  do 
not  attach  so  much  importance  to  the  subject  of  my  fugi- 
tive honors  as  to  have  any  very  decided  opinion  one  way 
or  the  other  upon  my  own  proportion  of  merit.  I  do  not 
even  recollect  the  major  part  of  the  verses :  that  which  1 


222  ATTTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

do  recollect,  inclines  me  to  think  that,  in  the  structure  of 
the  metre  and  in  the  choice  of  the  expressions,  I  had  some 
advantage  over  my  competitors,  though  otherwise,  perhaps, 
my  verses  were  less  finished ;  Lord  Morton  migh  there- 
fore, in  a  partial  sense,  have  been  just,  as  well  as  kind. 
But,  little  as  that  may  seem  likely,  even  then,  and  at  the 
moment  of  reaping  some  advantage  from  my  honors,  which 
gave  me  a  consideration  with  the  family  I  was  amongst 
such  as  I  could  not  else  have  had,  most  unaffectedly  I 
doubted  in  my  own  mind  whether  I  were  really  entitled  to 
the  praises  which  I  received.  My  own  verses  had  not  at 
all  satisfied  myself;  and  though  I  felt  elated  by  the  notice 
they  had  gained  me,  and  gratified  by  the  generosity  of 
the  earl  in  taking  my  part  so  warmly,  I  was  so  more  in  a 
spirit  of  sympathy  with  the  kindness  thus  manifested  in 
my  behalf,  and  with  the  consequent  kindness  which  it  pro- 
cured me  from  others,  than  from  any  incitement  or  support 
which  it  gave  to  my  intellectual  pride.  In  fact,  whatever 
estimate  I  might  make  of  those  intellectual  gifts  which  I 
believed  or  which  I  knew  myself  to  possess,  I  was  inclined, 
even  in  those  days,  to  doubt  whether  my  natural  vocation 
lay  towards  poetry.  Well,  indeed,  I  knew,  and  I  know 
that,  had  I  chosen  to  enlist  amongst  the  soi  disant  poets 
of  the  day,  —  amongst  those,  I  mean,  who,  by  mere  force 
of  talent  and  mimetic  skill,  contrive  to  sustain  the  part  of 
poet  in  a  scenical  sense  and  with  a  scenical  elfect,  —  I  also 
could  have  won  such  laurels  as  are  won  by  such  merit ;  I 
also  could  have  taken  and  sustained  a  place  talker  qualiter 
amongst  the  poets  of  the  time.  Why  not  then  ?  Simply 
because  1  knew  that  me,  as  them,  would  await  the  certain 
destiny  in  reversion  of  resigning  that  place  in  the  next 
generation  to  some  younger  candidate  having  equal  or 
greater  skill  in  appropriating  the  vague  sentiments  and  old 
traditionary  language  of  passion  spread  through  books,  but 


THE  NATION  OF  LONDON.  223 

having  also  the  advantage  of  novehy,  and  of  a  closer 
adaptation  to  the  prevailing  taste  of  the  day.  Even  at 
that  earl}^  age,  I  was  keenly  alive,  if  not  so  keenly  as  at 
this  moment,  to  the  fact,  that  by  far  the  larger  proportion 
of  what  is  received  in  every  age  for  poetry,  and  for  a 
season  usurps  that  consecrated  name,  is  not  the  spontaneous 
overflow  of  real  unaffected  passion,  deep,  and  at  the  same 
time  original,  and  also  forced  into  public  manifestation  of 
itself  from  the  necessity  which  cleaves  to  all  passion  alike 
of  seeking  external  sympathy  :  this  it  is  not;  but  a  coun- 
terfeit assumption  of  such  passion,  according  to  the  more 
or  less  accurate  skill  of  the  writer  in  distinguishing  the  key 
of  passion  suited  to  the  particular  age  ;  and  a  concurrent 
assumption  of  the  language  of  passion,  according  to  his 
more  or  less  skill  in  separating  the  spurious  from  the 
native  and  legitimate  diction  of  genuine  emotion.  Rarely, 
indeed,  are  the  reputed  poets  of  any  age  men  who  groan, 
like  prophets,  under  the  burden  of  a  message  which  they 
have  to  delivei",  and  must  deliver,  of  a  mission  which  they 
must  discharge.  Generally,  nay,  with  much  fewer  excep- 
tions, perhaps,  than  would  be  readily  believed,  they  are 
merely  simulators  of  tlie  part  they  sustain  ;  speaking  not 
out  of  the  abundance  of  their  own  hearts,  but  by  skill  and 
artifice  assuming  or  personating  emotions  at  second  hand  ; 
and  the  whole  is  a  business  of  talent,  (sometimes  even  of 
great  talent,)  but  not  of  original  power,  of  genius,*  or 
authentic  inspiration. 

*  The  words  rienius  and  talent  are  frequently  distinguished  from 
each  other  by  those  who  evidently  misconstrue  the  true  distinctioa 
entirely,  and  sometimes  so  grossly  as  to  use  them  by  way  of  expres- 
sions for  a  mere  difterence  in  degree.  Thus,  "  a  man  of  great  talent, 
a!)solutely  a  genius  "  occurs  in  a  very  well-written  tale  at  this  moment 
before  me  ;  as  if  being  a  man  of  genius  implied  only  a  greater  than 
ordinary  degree  of  talent. 


224  AUTOBIOGRArHIC    SKETCHES. 

From  Porters,  after  a  few  days'  visit,  we  returned  to 
Eton.  Her  majesty  about  this  time  gave  some  splendid 
fetes  at  Frogmore,  to  one  or  two  of  which  she  had  directed 
that  we  should  be  invited.     The   invitation  was,  of  course, 

Talent  and  nanus  are  in  no  one  point  allied  to  each  other,  except 
generieally  —  that  both  express  modes  of  intellectual  power.  But  the 
kinds  of  power  are  not  merely  different;  they  are  in  polar  opposition 
to  each  other.  Talent  is  intellectual  power  of  every  kind,  which  acts 
and  manifests  itself  by  and  through  the  luill  and  the  active  forces. 
Genius,  as  the  verbal  origin  implies,  is  that  much  rarer  species  of  in- 
tellectual power  W'hich  is  deri\ed  from  the  genial  nature,  —  from  the 
spirit  of  suffering  and  enjoying,  — from  the  spirit  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
as  organized  more  or  less  perfectly ;  and  this  is  independent  of  the 
will.  It  is  a  function  of  the  passive  nature.  Talent  is  conversant  with 
the  adaptation  of  means  to  ends.  But  genius  is  conversant  only  with 
ends.  Talent  has  no  sort  of  connection,  not  the  most  remote  or 
shadowy,  with  the  moral  nature  or  temperament ;  genius  is  steeped 
and  saturated  with  this  moral  nature. 

This  was  written  twenty  years  ago.  Now,  (1853,)  when  revising  it, 
1  am  tempted  to  add  three  brief  annotations  :  — 

1st.  It  scandalizes  me  that,  in  the  occasional  comments  upon  this 
distinction  which  have  reached  ray  eye,  no  attention  should  have  been 
paid  to  the  profound  suggestions  as  to  the  radix  of  what  is  meant  by 
genius  latent  in  the  word  genial.  For  instance,  in  an  extract  made 
by  "  The  Leader,"  a  distinguished  literary  journal,  from  a  recent 
work  entitled  "Poetics,"  by  Mr.  Dallas,  there  is  not  the  slightest 
notice  taken  of  this  subtile  indication  and  leading  towards  the  truth. 
Yet  surely  tliat  is  hardly  pliilosophic.  For  could  Mr.  Dallas  suppose 
that  the  idea  involved  in  the  word  genial  had  no  connection,  or 
none  but  an  accidental  one,  with  the  idea  involved  in  the  word 
genius'?  It  is  clear  that  from  the  Roman  conception  (whencesoever 
emanating)  of  the  natal  genius,  as  the  secret  and  central  representa- 
tive of  what  is  most  characteristic  and  individual  in  the  nature  of 
every  human  being,  are  derived  alike  the  notion  of  the  genial  and  our 
modern  notion  of  genius  as  contradistinguished  from  talent. 

2d.  As  another  broad  character  of  distinction  between  genius  and 
talent,  I  would  observe,  that  genius  differentiates  a  man  from  all 
other  men ;  whereas  talent  is  the  same  in  one  man  as  in  another  ^ 
that  is,  where  it  exists  at  all,  it  is  the  mere  echo  and  reflex  of  tho 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  225 

on  my  friend's  account ;  but  her  majesty  had  condescended  to 
direct  that  I,  as  his  visitor,  should  be  specially  included. 
Lord  VVestport,  young  as  he  was,  had  become  tolerably  in- 
ditFerent  about  such  things  ;  but  to  me  such  a  scene  was  a 
novelty ;  and,  on  that  account,  it  was  settled  we  should  go 
as  early  as  was  permissible.  We  did  go  ;  and  I  was  not 
sorry  to  have  had  the  gratification  of  witnessing  (if  it  were 
but  for  once  or  twice)  the  splendors  of  a  royal  party.  But, 
after  the  first  edge  of  expectation  was  taken  oflf,  —  after  the 
vague  uncertainties  of  rustic  ignorance  had  given  place  to 
absolute  realities,  and  the  eye  had  become  a  little  familiar 
with  the  flashing  of  the  jewelry,  —  I  began  to  sutfer  under 
the  constraints  incident  to  a  young  person  in  such  a  situa- 
tion—  the  situation,  namely,  of  sedentary  passiveness, 
where  one  is  acted  upon,  but  does  not  act.  The  music,  in 
fact,  was  all  that  continued  to  deligbt  me  ;  and,  but  {or  thatj 
I  believe  I  should  have  had  some  difficulty  in  avoiding  so 
monstrous  an  indecorum  as  yawning.  I  revise  this  faulty 
expression,  however,  on  the  spot;  not  the  music  only  it 
was,  but  the  music  combined  with  the  dancing,  that  so 
deeply  impressed  me.  The  ball  room  —  a  temporary  erec- 
tion, with  something  of  the  character  of  a  pavilion  about 
it  —  wore  an  elegant  and  festal  air  ;  the  part  allotted  to  the 
dancers  being  fenced  off  by  a  gilded  lattice  work,  and  orna- 
mented   beautifully   from    the    upper   part  with    drooping 


same  talent,  as  seen  in  thousands  of  other  men,  differing  only  by  more 
and  less,  but  not  at  all  in  quality.  In  genius,  on  the  contrary,  no 
two  men  were  ever  duplicates  of  each  other. 

3d.  All  talent,  in  whatsoever  class,  reveals  itself  as  an  effort  —  as 
a  counteraction  to  an  opposing  difficulty  or  hinderance ;  whereas 
genius  universally  moves  in  headlong  sympathy  and  concurrence 
with  spontaneous  power.  Talent  works  universally  by  intense  re- 
sistance to  an  antagonist  force  ;  whereas  genius  works  under  a  rapture 
of  necessity  and  spontaneity. 
15 


226  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

festoons  of  flowers.  But  all  the  luxury  that  spoke  to  the 
eye  merely  faded  at  once  by  the  side  of  innpassioned  dan- 
cing sustained  by  impassioned  music.  Of  all  the  scenes 
which  this  world  offers,  none  is  to  me  so  profoundly  in- 
teresting, none  (I  say  it  deliberately)  so  affecting,  as  the 
spectacle  of  men  and  women  floating  through  the  mazes  of 
a  dance  ;  under  these  conditions,  however,  that  the  music 
shall  be  rich,  resonant,  and  festal,  the  execution  of  the 
dancers  perfect,  and  the  dance  itself  of  a  character  to  ad- 
mit of  free,  fluent,  and  continuous  motion.  But  this  last 
condition  will  be  sought  vainly  in  the  quadrilles,  &c.,  which 
have  for  so  many  years  banished  the  truly  beautiful  country 
dances  native  to  England.  Those  whose  taste  and  sensi- 
bility were  so  defective  as  to  substitute  for  the  heaiitiful  in 
dancing  the  merely  difficulty  were  sure,  in  the  end,  to  trans- 
fer the  depravations  of  this  art  from  the  opera  house  to  the 
floors  of  private  ball  rooms.  The  tendencies  even  then 
were  in  that  direction  ;  but  a^  yet  they  had  not  attained 
their  final  stage ;  and  the  English  country  dance  *  was  still 

*  This  word,  I  am  well  aware,  grew  out  of  the  French  word  contre 
danse ;  indicating  the  regular  contraposition  of  male  and  female  part- 
ners in  the  first  arrangement  of  the  dancers.  The  word  country  dance 
was  therefore  originally  a  corruption ;  but,  having  once  arisen  and 
taken  root  in  the  language,  it  is  far  better  to  retain  it  in  its  colloquial 
form ;  better,  I  mean,  on  the  general  principle  concerned  in  such 
cases.  For  it  is,  in  fact,  by  such  corruptions,  by  offsets  upon  an  old 
stock,  arising  through  ignorance  or  mispronunciation  originally,  that 
every  language  is  frequently  enriched ;  and  new  modifications  of 
thought,  unfolding  themselves  in  the  progress  of  society,  generate  for 
themselves  concurrently  appropriate  expressions.  Many  words  in  the 
Latin  can  be  pointed  out  as  having  passed  through  this  process.  It 
must  not  be  allowed  to  weigh  against  the  validity  of  a  word  once  fairly 
naturalized  by  use,  that  originally  it  crept  in  upon  an  abuse  or  a  cor- 
ruption. Prescription  is  as  strong  a  ground  of  legitimation  in  a  case 
of  this  nature  as  it  is  in  law.  And  the  old  axiom  is  applicable  —  Fieri 
nan    debuit,  factum  valet.     Were  it  otherwise,  languages   would  be 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  227 

in  esti  nation  at  the  courts  of  princes.  Now,  of  all  dances, 
this  is  the  only  one,  as  a  class,  of  which  you  can  truly  de- 
scribe the  motion  to  be  confinuoiis,  that  is,  not  interrupted 
or  fitful,  but  unfolding  its  fine  mazes  with  the  equability  of 
light  in  its  diffusion  through  free  space.  And  wherever 
the  music  happens  to  be  not  of  a  light,  trivial  character, 
but  charged  with  the  spirit  of  festal  pleasure,  and  the  per- 
formers in  the  dance  so  far  skilful  as  to  betray  no  awk- 
wardness verging  on  the  ludicrous,  I  believe  that  many  peo- 
ple feel  as  I  feel  in  such  circumstances,  viz.,  derive  from 
the  spectacle  the  very  grandest  form  of  passionate  sadness 
which  can  belong  to  any  spectacle  whatsoever.  Sadness 
is  not  the  exact  word  ;  nor  is  there  any  word  in  any  lan- 
guage (because  none  in  the  finest  languages)  which  exact- 
ly expresses  the  state ;  since  it  is  not  a  depressing,  but  a 
most  elevating  state  to  which  I  allude.  And,  certainly,  it 
is  easy  to  understand,  that  many  states  of  pleasure,  and  in 
particular  the  highest,  are  the  most  of  all  removed  from 
merriment.  The  day  on  which  a  Roman  triumphed  was 
the  most  gladsome  day  of  his  existence  ;  it  was  the  crown 
and  consummation  of  his  prosperity ;  yet  assuredly  it  wasj 
also  to  him  the  most  solemn  of  his  days.  Festal  music,  of 
a  rich  and  passionate  character,  is  the  most  remote  of  any 

robbed  of  much  of  their  wealth.  And,  universally,  the  class  of  purists, 
in  matters  of  language,  are  liable  to  grievous  suspicion,  as  almost  con- 
stantly proceeding  on  half  knowledge  and  on  insufficient  principles. 
For  example,  if  I  have  read  one,  I  have  read  twenty  letters,  addressed 
to  newspapers,  denouncing  the  name  of  a  great  quarter  in  London, 
Mary-le-hone,  as  ludicrously  ungrammatical.  The  writers  had  learned 
(or  were  learning)  French  ;  and  they  had  thus  become  aware,  that 
neither  the  article  nor  the  adjective  was  right.  True,  not  right  for 
the  current  age,  but  perfectly  right  for  the  age  in  which  the  name 
arose ;  but,  for  want  of  elder  French,  they  did  not  know  that  in  our 
Chaucer's  time  both  were  right.  Le  was  then  the  article  feminine  as 
well  as  masculine,  and  hone  was  then  the  true  form  for  the  adjective. 


228  ATTTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

from  vulgar  hilarity.  Its  very  gladness  and  pomp  is  im- 
pregnated with  sadness,  but  sadness  of  a  grand  and  aspir- 
ing order.  Let,  for  instance,  (since  without  individual  illus- 
trations there  is  the  greatest  risk  of  being  misunderstood,) 
any  person  of  musical  sensibility  listen  to  the  exquisite  mu- 
sic composed  by  Beethoven,  as  an  opening  for  Biirger's 
"  Lenore,"  the  running  idea  of  which  is  the  triumphal  return 
of  a  crusading  host,  decorated  with  laurels  and  whh  palms, 
within  the  gates  of  their  native  city ;  and  then  say  whether 
the  presiding  feeling,  in  the  midst  of  this  tumultuous  festiv- 
ity, be  not,  by  infinite  degrees,  transcendent  to  any  thing  so 
vulgar  as  hilarity.  In  fact,  laughter  itself  is  of  all  things 
the  most  equivocal ;  as  the  organ  of  the  ludicrous,  laughter 
is  allied  to  the  trivial  and  the  mean  ;  as  the  organ  of  joy,  it 
is  allied  to  the  passionate  and  the  noble.  From  all  which 
the  reader  may  comprehend,  if  he  should  not  happen  ex- 
perimentally to  have  felt,  that  a  spectacle  of  young  men 
and  women,  fiowing  through  the  mazes  of  an  intricate 
dance  under  a  full  volume  of  music,  taken  with  all  the  cir- 
cumstantial adjuncts  of  such  a  scene  in  rich  men's  halls ; 
the  blaze  of  lights  and  jewels,  the  life,  the  motion,  the  sea- 
like undulation  of  heads,  the  interweaving  of  the  figures, 
the  ufuxvAioaig  or  self-revolving,  both  of  the  dance  and 
the  music,  "  never  ending,  still  beginning,"  and  the  contin- 
ual regeneration  of  order  from  a  system  of  motions  which 
forever  touch  the  very  brink  of  confusion  ;  that  such  a  spec- 
tacle, with  such  circumstances,  may  happen  to  be  capable 
of  exciting  and  sustaining  the  very  grandest  emotions  of 
philosophic  melancholy  to  which  the  human  spirit  is  open. 
The  reason  is,  in  part,  that  such  a  scene  presents  a  sort  of 
mask  of  human  life,  with  its  whole  equipage  of  pomps  and 
glories,  its  luxury  of  sight  and  sound,  its  hours  of  golden 
youth,  and  the  interminable  revolution  of  ages  hurrying 
after  ages,  and  one  generation  treading  ipon  the  flying  foot- 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  229 

Steps  of  another  ;  whilst  all  the  while  the  overruling  music 
attempers  the  mind  to  the  spectacle,  the  subject  to  the  object, 
the  beholder  to  the  vision.  And,  although  this  is  known  to 
be  but  one  phasis  of  life,  —  of  life  culminating  and  in  ascent, 
—  yet  the  other  (and  repulsive)  phasis  is  concealed  upon  the 
hidden  or  averted  side  of  the  golden  arras,  known  but  not 
felt ;  or  is  seen  but  dimly  in  the  rear,  crowding  into  indistinct 
proportions.  The  effect  of  the  music  is,  to  place  the  mind 
in  a  state  of  elective  attraction  for  every  thing  in  harmony 
with  its  own  prevailing  key. 

This  pleasure,  as  always  on  similar  occasions,  I  had  at 
present;  but  naturally  in  a  degree  corresponding  to  the 
circumstances  of  royal  splendor  through  which  the  scene 
revolved  ;  and,  if  I  have  spent  rather  more  words  than 
should  reasonably  have  been  requisite  in  describing  any 
obvious  state  of  emotion,  it  is  not  because,  in  itself,  it  ia 
either  vague  or  doubtful,  but  because  it  is  diiiicult,  without 
calling  upon  a  reader  for  a  little  reflection,  to  convince 
him  that  there  is  not  something  paradoxical  in  the  asser- 
tion, that  joy  and  festal  pleasure,  of  the  highest  kind,  are 
liable  to  a  natural  combination  with  solemnity,  or  even 
with  melancholy  the  most  profound.  Yet,  to  speak  in  the 
mere  simplicity  of  truth,  so  mysterious  is  human  nature, 
and  so  little  to  be  read  by  him  who  runs,  that  almost  every 
weighty  aspect  of  truth  upon  that  theme  will  be  found  at 
first  sight  to  be  startling,  or  sometimes  paradoxical.  And 
so  little  need  is  there  for  chasing  or  courting  paradox, 
that,  on  the  contrary,  he  who  is  faithful  to  his  own  ex- 
periences will  find  all  his  efforts  little  enough  to  keep 
down  the  paradoxical  air  besieging  much  of  what  he  knoics 
to  be  the  truth.  No  man  needs  to  search  for  paradox  in 
this  world  of  ours.  Let  him  simply  confine  himself  to  the 
truth,  and  he  will  find  paradox  growing  every  where  under 
his  hands  as  rank  as  weeds.     For  new  truths  of  impor- 


230  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

tance  are  rarely  agreeable  to  any  preconceived  theories , 
that  is,  cannot  be  explained  by  these  theories  ;  which  are 
insufficient,  therefore,  even  where  they  are  true.  And 
universally,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  that  not  that  is 
paradox  which,  seeming  to  be  true,  is  upon  examination 
false,  but  that  which,  seeming  to  be  false,  may  upon  ex- 
amination be  found  true.* 

The  pleasure  of  which  I  have  been  speaking  belongs  to 
all  such  scenes ;  but  on  this  particular  occasion  there  was 
also  something  more.  To  see  persons  in  "  the  body  "  of 
whom  you  have  been  reading  in  newspapers  from  the  very 
earliest  of  your  reading  days,  —  those,  who  have  hitherto 
been  great  ideas  in  your  childish  thoughts,  to  see  and  to 
hear  moving  and  talking  as  carnal  existences  amongst 
other  human  beings,  —  had,  for  the  first  half  hour  or  so, 
a  singular  and  strange  effect.  But  this  naturally  waned 
rapidly  after  it  had  once  begun  to  wane.  And  when  these 
first  startling  impressions  of  novelty  had  worn  off,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  the  peculiar  circumstances  attaching 
to  a  royal  ball  were  not  favorable  to  its  joyousness  or 
genial  spirit  of  enjoyment.  I  am  not  going  to  repay  hei 
majesty's  condescension  so  ill,  or  so  much  to  abuse  the 
privileges  of  a  guest,  as  to  draw  upon  my  recollections 
of  what  passed  for  the  materials  of  a  cynical  critique. 
Every  thing  was  done,  I  doubt  not,  which  court  etiquette 
permitted,  to  thaw  those  ungenial  restraints  which  gave  to 

*  And  therefore  it  was  with  strict  propriety  that  Boyle,  anxious 
to  fix  public  attention  upon  some  truths  of  hydrostatics,  published 
them  avowedly  as  paradoxes.  According  to  the  false  popular  notion 
of  what  it  is  that  constitutes  a  paradox,  Boyle  should  be  taken  to 
mean  that  these  hydrostatic  theorems  were  fallacies.  But  far  from 
it.  Boyle  solicits  attention  to  these  propositions  —  not  as  seeming  to 
be  true  and  turning  out  false,  but,  reversely,  as  weai'iug  an  air  of 
falsehood  and  turning  out  true. 


THE  NATION  OF  LONDON.  231 

the  whole  too  much  of  a  ceremonial  and  official  character, 
and  to  each  actor  in  the  scene  gave  too  much  of  the  air 
belonging  to  one  who  is  discharging  a  duty,  and  to  the 
youngest  even  among  the  principal  personages  concerned 
gave  an  apparent  anxiety  and  jealousy  of  manner — jeal- 
ousy, I  mean,  not  of  others,  but  a  prudential  jealousy  of 
his  own  possible  oversights  or  trespasses.  In  fact,  a  great 
personage  bearing  a  state  character  cannot  be  regarded, 
nor  regard  himself,  with  the  perfect  freedom  which  belongs 
to  social  intercourse  ;  no,  nor  ought  to  be.  It  is  not  rank 
alone  which  is  here  concerned  ;  that,  as  being  his  own,  he 
might  lay  aside  for  an  hour  or  two ;  but  lie  bears  a  rep- 
resentative character  also.  He  has  not  his  own  rank 
only,  but  the  rank  of  others,  to  protect ;  he  (supposing  him 
the  sovereign  or  a  prince  near  to  the  succession)  embodies 
and  impersonates  the  majesty  of  a  great  people  ;  and  this 
character,  were  you  ever  so  much  encouraged  to  do  so, 
you,  the  nJa-uj/f,  the  lay  spectator  or  "  assister,"  neither 
could  nor  ought  to  dismiss  from  your  thoughts.  Besides 
all  which,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  to  see  brothers 
dancing  with  sisters  —  as  too  often  occurred  in  those  dances 
to  which  the  princesses  were  parties  —  disturbed  the  appro- 
priate interest  of  the  scene,  being  irreconcilable  with  the 
allusive  meaning  of  dancing  in  general,  and  laid  a  weight 
upon  its  gayety  which  no  condescensions  from  the  highest 
quarter  could  remove.  This  infelicitous  arrangement 
forced  the  thoughts  of  all  present  upon  the  exalted  rank 
of  the  parties  which  could  dictate  and  exact  so  unusual 
an  assortment.  And  that  rank,  again,  it  presented  to  us 
under  one  of  its  least  happy  aspects  ;  as  insulating  a 
blooming  young  woman  amidst  the  choir  of  her  coevals, 
and  surrounding  her  with  dreadful  solitude  amidst  a  vast 
crowd  of  the  young,  the  brave,  the  beautiful,  and  the 
accomplished. 


232  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

]\Ieantime,  as  respected  myself  individually,  I  had  reason 
to  be  grateful  :  every  kindness  and  attention  were  shown 
to  me.  My  invitation  I  was  sensible  that  I  owed  entirely 
to  my  noble  friend.  But,  having  been  invited,  I  felt  as- 
sured, from  what  passed,  that  it  was  meant  and  provided 
that  I  should  not,  by  any  possibility,  be  suffered  to  think 
myself  overlooked.  Lord  Westport  and  I  communicated 
our  thoughts  occasionally  by  means  of  a  language  which 
we,  in  those  days,  found  useful  enough  at  times,  and  which 
bore  the  name  of  Ziph.  The  language  and  the  name  were 
both  derived  (that  is,  wei'e  immediately  so  derived,  for 
remotely  the  Ziph  language  may  ascend  to  Nineveh)  from 
Winchester.  Dr.  Mapleton,  a  physician  in  Bath,  who  at- 
tended me  in  concert  with  Mr.  Grant,  an  eminent  surgeon, 
dijring  the  nondescript  malady  of  the  head,  happened  to 
have  had  three  sons  at  Winchester  ;  and  his  reason  for  re- 
moving them  is  worth  mentioning,  as  it  illustrates  the  well- 
known  system  of  fagging.  One  or  more  of  them  showed 
to  the  quick  medical  eye  of  Dr.  Mapleton  symptoms  of 
declining  health  ;  and,  upon  cross  questioning,  he  found 
that,  being  (as  juniors) yk^s  (that  is,  bondsmen  by  old  pre- 
scription) to  appointed  seniors,  they  were  under  the  neces- 
sity of  going  out  nightly  into  the  town  for  the  purpose  of 
executing  commissions ;  but  this  was  not  easy,  as  all  the 
regular  outlets  were  closed  at  an  early  hour.  In  such  a 
dilemma,  any  route,  that  was  barely  practicable  at  what- 
ever risk,  must  be  traversed  by  the  loyal  fag  ;  and  it  so  hap- 
pened that  none  of  any  kind  remained  open  or  accessible, 
except  one  ;  and  this  one  communication  happened  to  have 
escaped  suspicion,  simply  because  it  lay  through  a  suc- 
cession of  temples  and  sewers  sacred  to  the  goddesses  Cloa- 
cina  and  Scavengerina.  That  of  itself  was  not  so  ex- 
traordinary a  fact :  the  wonder  lay  in  the  number,  viz., 
seventeen.     Such  were  the  actual  amount  of  sacred  edifices 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  233. 

which,  through  all  their  dust,  and  garbage,  and  mephitic 
morasses,  these  miserable  vassals  had  to  thread  all  hut 
every  night  of  the  vi^eek.  Dr.  Mapleton,  when  he  had 
made  this  discovery,  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  medical  symp- 
toms ;  and,  as  jaggery  was  an  abuse  too  venerable  and 
sacred  to  be  touched  by  profane  hands,  he  lodged  no  idle  com- 
plaints, but  simply  removed  his  sons  to  a  school  where  the 
Serbonian  bogs  of  the  subterraneous  goddess  might  not  inter- 
sect the  nocturnal  line  of  march  so  very  often.  One  day,  dur- 
ing the  worst  of  my  illness,  when  the  kind-hearted  doctor 
was  attempting  to  amuse  me  with  this  anecdote,  and  ask- 
ing me  whether  I  thought  Hannibal  would  have  attempted 
his  march  over  the  Little  St.  Bernard, —  supposing  that  he 
and  the  elephant  which  he  rode  had  been  summoned  to 
explore  a  route  through  seventeen  similar  nuisances, —  he 
went  on  to  mention  the  one  sole  accomplishment  which  his 
sons  had  imported  from  Winchester.  This  was  the  Ziph 
language,  communicated  at  Winchester  to  any  aspirant 
for  a  fixed  fee  of  one  half  guinea,  but  which  the  doctor 
then  communicated  to  me  —  as  I  do  now  to  the  reader  — 
gratis.  I  make  a  present  of  this  language  without  fee,  or 
price,  or  entrance  money,  to  my  honored  reader ;  and  let 
him  understand  that  it  is  undoubtedly  a  bequest  of  elder 
times.  Perhaps  it  may  be  coeval  with  the  pyramids.  For 
in  the  famous  "  Essay  on  a  Philosophical  Character,"  (I  for- 
get whether  that  is  the  exact  title,)  a  large  folio  written  by 
the  ingenious  Dr.  Wilkins,  Bishop  of  Chester,*  and  pub- 
lished early  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  a  folio  which  I,  in 
youthful  days,  not  only  read  but  studied,  this    language   is 

*  This  Dr.  Wilkins  was  related  by  marria<.'e  to  Cromwell,  and  is 
better  known  to  the  world,  perhaps,  by  his  Essay  on  tbe  possibility 
of  a  passage  (or,  as  the  famous  author  of  the  "  Pursuits  of  Litera- 
ture "  said,  by  way  of  an  episcopal  metaphor,  the  possibility  of  a 
translation)  to  the  moon. 


234  AriOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

recorded  and  accuratelj  described  amongst  many  othef 
modes  of  cryptical  communication,  oral  and  visual,  spoken, 
written,  or  symbolic.  And,  as  the  bishop  does  not  speak 
of  it  as  at  all  a  recent  invention,  it  may  probably  at  that 
time  have  been  regarded  as  an  antique  device  for  conduct- 
ing a  conversation  in  secrecy  amongst  bystanders;  and 
this  advantage  it  has,  that  it  is  applicable  to  all  languages 
alike  ;  nor  can  it  possibly  be  penetrated  by  one  not  initiated 
in  the  mysterj-.  The  secret  is  this  —  (and  the  grandeur 
of  simplicity  at  any  rate  it  has)  —  repeat  the  vowel  or 
diphthong  of  every  syllable,  prefixing  to  the  vowel  so 
repeated  the  letter  G.  Thus,  for  example  :  Shall  we  go 
away  in  an  hour?  Three  hours  we  ha\e  already  staid. 
This  in  Ziph  becomes  :  Shagall  icege  gogo  ogawagay 
igin  agan  hougour  ?  T/ireegee  hougours  wege  hagave 
agalreageadygy  stagaid*  It  must  not  be  supposed  that 
Ziph  proceeds  slowly.  A  very  little  practice  gives  the 
greatest  fluency  ;  so  that  even  now,  though  certainly  I 
cannot  have  practised  it  for  fifty  yeare,  my  power  of  speak- 
ing the  Ziph  remains  unimpaired.  I  forget  whether  in  the 
Bishop  of  Chester's  account  of  this  cryptical  language  the 
consonant  intercalated  be  G  or  not.  Evidently  any  con- 
sonant will  answer  the  purpose.  F  or  L  would  be  softer, 
and  so  far  better. 

In  this  learned  tongue  it  was  that  my  friend  and  I 
communicated  our  feelings  ;  and,  having  staid  nearly  four 
hours,  a  time  quite  sufficient  to  express  a  proper  sense  of 
the  honor,  we  departed  ;  and,  on  emerging  into  the  open 
high  road,  we  threw  up  our  hats  and  huzzaed,  meaning 


*  One  omission  occurs  to  me  on  reviewing  this  account  of  the 
Ziph,  which  is  —  that  I  should  have  directed  the  accent  to  be  placed 
on  the  intercalated  syllable :  thus,  ship  becomes  sfu'gip,  with  the  em 
phasis  on  gip ;  run  becomes  rwjim,  &c. 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  235 

no  sort  of  disrespect,  but  from   uncontrollable  pleasure  in 
recovered  liberty. 

Soon  after  this  we  left  Eton  for  Ireland.  Our  first 
destination  being  Dublin,  of  course  we  went  by  Holyhead. 
The  route  at  that  time,  from  Southern  England  to  Dublin, 
did  not  (as  in  elder  and  in  later  days)  go  round  by  Chester. 
A  few  miles  after  leaving  Shrewsbury,  somewhere  about 
Oswestiy,  it  entered  North  Wales ;  a  stage  farther  Drought 
us  to  the  celebrated  vale  of  Llangollen  ;  and,  on  reaching 
the  approach  to  this  about  sunset  on  a  beautiful  evening 
of  June,  I  first  found  myself  amongst  the  mountains  —  a 
feature  in  natural  scenery  for  which,  from  my  earliest 
days,  it  was  not  extravagant  to  say  that  I  had  hungered  and 
thirsted.  In  no  one  expectation  of  my  life  have  I  been 
less  disappointed  ;  and  I  may  add,  that  no  one  enjoyment 
has  less  decayed  or  palled  upon  my  continued  experience. 
A  mountainous  region,  with  a  slender  population,  and 
that  of  a  simple  pastoral  character ;  behold  mv  chief  con- 
ditions of  a  pleasant  permanent  dwelling-place  !  But, 
thus  far  I  have  altered,  that  now  I  should  greatly  prefer 
forest  scenery —  such  as  the  New  Forest,  or  the  Forest  of 
Dean  in  Gloucestershire.  The  mountains  of  Wales  range 
at  about  the  same  elevation  as  those  of  Northern  England  ; 
three  thousand  and  four  to  six  hundred  feet  being  the 
extreme  limit  which  they  reach.  Generally  speaking, 
their  forms  are  less  picturesque  individually,  and  they  are 
less  happily  grouped  than  their  English  brethren.  I  have 
since  also  been  made  sensible  by  Wordsworth  of  one 
grievous  defect  in  the  structure  of  the  Welsh  valleys  ;  too 
generally  they  take  the  hasin  shape — the  level  area  at 
their  foot  does  not  detach  itself  with  sufficient  precision 
from  the  declivities  that  surround  them.  Of  this,  however, 
1  was  not  aware  at  the  time  of  first  seeing  Wales  ;  although 
the  striking  effect  from   the  opposite  form  of  the  Cumber- 


238  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKET(  lES. 

land  and  Westmoreland  valleys,  which  almost  universally 
present  a  flat  area  at  the  base  of  the  sui'roiinding  hills, 
level,  to  use  Wordsworth's  expression,  '  as  the  jloor  of  a 
temple^''''  would,  at  any  rate,  have  arrested  my  eye,  as  a 
circumstance  of  impressive  beauty,  even  though  the  want 
of  such  a  feature  might  not,  in  any  case,  have  affected  me 
as  a  fault.  As  something  that  had  a  positive  value,  this 
characteristic  of  the  Cumbrian  valleys  had  fixed  my  atten- 
tion, but  not  as  any  telling  point  of  contrast  against  the 
Cambrian  valleys.  No  faults,  however,  at  that  early  age 
disturbed  my  pleasure,  except  that,  after  one  whole  day's 
travelling,  (for  so  long  it  cost  us  between  Llangollen  and 
Holyhead,)  the  want  of  water  struck  me  upon  review  as 
painfully  remarkable.  From  Conway  to  Bangor  (seventeen 
miles)  we  were  often  in  sight  of  the  sea  ;  but  fresh  water 
we  had  seen  hardly  any  ;  no  lake,  no  stream  much  beyond 
a  brook.  This  is  certainly  a  conspicuous  defect  in  North 
Wales,  considered  as  a  region  of  fine  scenery.  The  few 
lakes  I  have  since  become  acquainted  with,  as  that  near 
Bala,  near  Beddkelert,  and  beyond  Machynleth,  are  not 
attractive  either  in  their  forms  or  in  their  accompaniments; 
the  Bala  Lake  being  meagre  and  insipid,  the  others  as 
it  were  unfinished,  and  unaccompanied  with  their  furniture 
of  wood. 

At  the  Head  (to  call  it  by  its  common  colloquial  name) 
we  were  detained  a  few  days  in  those  unsteaming  times 
by  foul  winds.  Our  time,  however,  thanks  to  the  hospi- 
tality of  a  certain  Captain  Skinner  on  that  station,  did  .lot 
hang  heavy  on  our  hands,  though  we  were  imprisoned, 
as  it  were,  on  a  dull  rock  ;  for  Holyhead  itself  is  a  little 
island  of  rock,  an  insulated  dependency  of  Anglesea ; 
which,  again,  is  a  little  insulated  dependency  of  North 
Wales.     The  packets  on  this   station   were  at    that    time 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  237 

lucrative  comnands  ;  and  they  were  given  (perhaps  are* 
given  ?)  to  post  captains  in  the  navy.  Captain  Skinner 
was  celebrated  for  his  convivial  talents;  he  did  the 
honors  of  the  place  in  a  hospitable  style  ;  daily  asked  us 
to  dine  with  him,  and  seemed  as  inexhaustible  in  his  wit 
as  in  his  hospitality. 

This  answered  one  purpose,  at  least,  of  special  con- 
venience to  our  party  at  that  moment  :  it  kept  us  from 
all  necessity  of  meeting  each  other  during  the  day,  except 
under  circumstances  where  we  escaped  the  necessity  of 
any  familiar  communication.  Why  that  should  have 
become  desirable,  arose  upon  the  following  mysterious 
change  of  relations   between  ourselves  and  the   Rev.  Mr. 

Gr ,  Lord  Westport's  tutor.     On  the  last  day  of  our 

journey,  Mr.  G,,  who  had  accompanied  us  thus  far,  but 
now  at  Holyhead  was  to  leave  us,  suddenly  took  offence 
(or,  at  least,  then  first  showed  his  offence)  at  something 
we  had  said,  done,  or  omitted,  and  never  spoke  one 
syllable  to  either  of  us  again.  Being  both  of  us  amiably 
disposed,  and  incapable  of  having  seriously  meditated 
either  word  or  deed  likely  to  wound  any  person's  feelings, 
we  were  much  hurt  at  the  time,  and  often  retraced  the 
little  incidents  upon  the  road,  to  discover,  if  possible, 
what  it  was  that  had  laid  us  open  to  misconstruction. 
But  it  remained  to  both  of  us  a  lasting  mystery.  This 
tutor  was  an  Irishman,  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin,  and,  I 
believe,  of  considerable  pretensions  as  a  scholar ;  but, 
being  reserved  and  haughty,  or  else  presuming  in  us  a 
knowledge  of  our  offeree,  which  we  really  had  not,  he 
gave  us  no  opening  for  any  explanation.  To  the  last 
moment,  however,  he  manifested  a  punctilious  regard  to 
the  duties  of  his  charge.  He  accompanied  us  in  our 
boat,  on   a  dark    and    gusty  night,   to   the    packet,  which 

*  Written  twenty  years  ago. 


238  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

lay  a  little  out  at  sea.  He  saw  us  on  board  ;  and  then, 
standing  up  for  one  moment,  he  said,  "  Is  all  right  on 
deck } "  "  All  right,  sir,"  sang  out  the  ship's  steward. 
"  Have  you.  Lord  Westport,  got  your  boat  cloak  with 
you  }  "  "  Yes,  sir."  "  Then,  pull  away,  boatmen." 
We  listened  for  a  time  to  the  measured  beat  of  his  re- 
treating oars,  marvelling  more  and  more  at  the  atrocious 
nature  of  our  crime  which  could  thus  avail  to  intercept 
even  his  last  adieus.  I,  for  my  part,  never  saw  him  again  ; 
nor,  as  I  have  reason  to  think,  did  Lord  Westport.  Neither 
did  we  ever  unravel  the  mystery. 

As  if  to  irritate  our  curiosity  still  more.  Lord  Westport 
showed  me  a  torn  fragment  of  paper  in  his  tutor's  hand- 
writing, which,  together  with  others,  had  been  thrown  (as 
he  believed)  purposely  in  his  way.  If  he  was  right  in  that 
belief,  it  appeared  that  he  had  missed  the  particular  frag- 
ment which  was  designed  to  raise  the  veil  upon  our  guilt ; 
for  the  one  he  produced  contained  exactly  these  words  : 
"  With  respect  to  your  ladyship's  anxiety  to  know  how  far 
the  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Do  Q.  is  likely  to  be  of  service 

to  your  son,  I  think  I  may  now  venture  to  say  that" 

There  the  sibylline  fragment  ended  ;  nor  could  we  torture 
it  into  any  further  revelation.  However,  both  of  us  saw 
the  propriety  of  not  ourselves  practising  any  mystery,  nor 
giving  any  advantage  to  Mr.  G.  by  imperfect  communi- 
cations ;  and  accordingly,  on  the  day  after  we  reached 
Dublin,  we  addressed  a  circumstantial  account  of  our  jour- 
ney and  our  little  mystery  to  Lady  Altamont  in  England  ; 
for  to  her  it  was  clear  that  the  tutor  had  confided  his 
mysterious  wrongs.  Her  ladyship  answered  with  kind- 
ness ;  but  did  not  throw  any  light  on  the  problem  which 
exercised  at  once  our  memories,  our  skill  in  conjectural 
interpretation,  and  our  sincere  regrets.  Lord  Westport 
and    I    regretted  much  that  there  had    not   been  a  wider 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON,  239 

margin  attached  to  the  fragment  of  Mr.  G.'s  letter  to 
Lady  Altarnont  ;  in  which  case,  as  I  could  readily  have 
mimicked  his  style  of  writing,  it  woidd  have  been  easy  for 
me  to  fill  up  thus  :  "  With  respect  to  your  ladyship's 
anxiety,  &c.,  I  think  I  may  now  venture  to  say  that,  if  the 
solar  system  were  searched,  there  could  not  be  found  a 
companion  more  serviceable  to  your  son  than  Mr.  De  Q. 
He  speaks  the  Ziph  most  beautifully.  He  writes  it,  I  am 
told,  classically.  And  if  there  were  a  Ziph  nation  as  well 
as  a  Ziph  language,  I  am  satisfied  that  he  would  very  soon 
be  at  the  head  of  it;  as  he  already  is,  beyond  all  competi- 
tion, at  the  head  of  the  Ziph  literature."  Lady  Altamont, 
on  receiving  this,  would  infallibly  have  supposed  him 
mad ;  she  would  have  written  so  to  all  her  Irish  friends, 
and  would  have  commended  the  poor  gentleman  to  the 
care  of  his  nearest  kinsmen  ;  and  thus  we  should  have  had 
some  little  indemnification  for  the  annoyance  he  had 
caused  us.  I  mention  this  trifle,  simply  because,  trifle  a? 
it  is,  it  involved  a  mystery,  and  furnishes  an  occasion  for 
glancing  at  that  topic.  Mysteries  as  deep,  with  results  a 
little  more  important  and  foundations  a  little  sounder,  have 
many  times  crossed  me  in  life  ;  one,  for  instance,  I  recol- 
lect at  this  moment,  known  pretty  extensively  to  the  neigh- 
borhood  in  which    it   occurred.     It  was   in  the  county  of 

S .     A  lady  married,  and  married  well,  as  was  thought. 

About  twelve  months  afterwards,  she  returned  alone  in  a 
post  chaise  to  her  father's  house  ;  paid,  and  herself  dis- 
missed, the  postilion  at  the  gate  ;  entered  the  house  ;  as- 
cended to  the  room  in  which  she  had  passed  her  youth,  and 
known  in  the  family  by  her  name  ;  took  possession  of  it  again  ; 
intimated  by  signs,  and  by  one  short  letter  at  her  first 
arrival,  what  she  would  require  ;  lived  for  nearly  twenty 
years  in  this  state  of  La  Trappe  seclusion  and  silence;  nor 
ever,  to   the  hour  of   her  death,  explained  what  circum- 


240  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Stances  had  dissolved  the  supposed  happy  connection  she  had 
formed,  or  what  had  become  of  her  husband.  Her  looks 
and  gestures  were  of  a  nature  to  repress  all  questions  in 
the  spirit  of  mere  curiosity  ;  and  the  spirit  of  affection 
naturally  respected  a  secret  which  was  guarded  so  se- 
verely. This  might  be  supposed  a  Spanish  tale  ;  yet  it 
happened  in  England,  and  in  a  pretty  populous  neighbor- 
hood. The  romances  which  occur  in  real  life  are  too 
often  connected  with  circumstances  of  criminality  in  some 
one  among  the  parties  concerned  ;  on  that  account,  more 
than  any  other,  they  are  often  suppressed  ;  else,  judging  by 
the  number  which  have  fallen  within  my  own  knowledge, 
they  must  be  of  more  frequent  occurrence  than  is  usually 
supposed.  Among  such  romances,  those  cases,  perhaps, 
form  an  unusual  proportion  in  which  young,  innocent,  and 
high-minded  persons  have  made  a  sudden  discovery  of 
some  great  profligacy  or  deep  unworthiness  in  the  person 
to  whom  they  had  surrendered  their  entire  affections. 
That  shock,  more  than  any  other,  is  capable  of  blighting, 
in  one  hour,  the  whole  after  existence,  and  sometimes  of 
at  once  overthrowing  the  balance  of  life  or  of  reason.  In- 
stances I  have  known  of  both  ;  and  such  afflictions  are  the 
less  open  to  any  alleviation,  that  sometimes  they  are  of  a 
nature  so  delicate  as  to  preclude  all  confidential  communi- 
cation of  them  to  another ;  and  sometimes  it  would  be  even 
dangerous,  in  a  legal  sense,  to  communicate  them. 

A  sort  of  adventure  occurred,  and  not  of  a  kind  pleasant 
to  recall,  even  on  this  short  voyage.  The  passage  to 
Dublin  from  the  Head  is  about  sixty  miles,  I  believe  ;  yet, 
from  batning  winds,  it  cost  us  upwards  of  thirty  hours. 
On  the  second  day,  going  upon  deck,  we  found  that  our 
only  fellow-passenger  of  note  was  a  woman  of  rank,  cele- 
brated for  her  beauty  ;  and  not  undeservedly,  for  a  lovely 
creature  she  was.     The  body  of  her  travelling  coach  had 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON.  241 

been,  as  usual,  unslung  from  the  "  carriage,"  (by  which  is 
technically  meant  the  wheels  and  tiie  penjh,)  and  placed 
upon  deck.  This  she  used  as  a  place  of  retreat  from  the 
sun  during  the  day,  and  as  a  resting-place  at  night.  For 
want  of  more  interesting  companions,  she  invited  us,  during 
the  day,  into  her  coach  ;  and  we  taxed  our  abilities  to 
make  ourselves  as  entertaining  as  we  could,  for  we  were 
greatly  fascinated  by  the  lady's  beauty.  The  second  night 
proved  very  sultry  ;  and  Lord  Westport  and  myself,  suffer- 
ing from  the  oppression  of  the  cabin,  left  our  berths,  and 
lay,  wrapped  up  in  cloaks,  upon  deck.  Having  talked  for 
some  hours,  we  were  both  on  the  point  of  falling  asleep, 
when  a  stealthy  tread  near  our  heads  awoke  us.  It  was 
starlight ;  and  we  traced  between  ourselves  and  the  sky  the 
outline  of  a  man's  figure.  Lying  upon  a  mass  of  tarpaul- 
ings,  we  were  ourselves  undistinguishable,  and  the  figure 
moved  in  the  direction  of  the  coach.  Our  first  thought 
was  to  raise  an  alarm,  scarcely  doubting  that  the  purpose 
of  the  man  was  to  rob  the  unprotected  lady  of  her  watch 
or  purse.  But,  to  our  astonishment,  we  saw  the  coach 
door  silently  swing  open  under  a  touch  from  within.  All 
was  as  silent  as  a  dream  ;  the  figure  entered,  the  door 
closed,  and  we  were  left  to  interpret  the  case  as  we  might. 
Strange  it  was  that  this  lady  could  permit  herself  to  cal- 
culate upon  absolute  concealment  in  such  circumstances. 
We  recollected  afterwards  to  have  heard  some  indistinct 
rumor  buzzed  about  the  packet  on  the  day  preceding, 
that  a  gentleman,  and  some  even  spoke  of  him  by  name 
as  a  Colonel  ,  for  some  unknown  purpose,  was  con- 
cealed in  the  steerage  of  the  packet.  And  other  appear- 
ances indicated  that  the  affair  was  not  entirely  a  secret 
even  amongst  the  lady's  servants.  To  both  of  us  the  story 
proclaimed  a  moral  already  sufficiently  current,  viz.,  that 
women  of  the  highest  and  the  very  lowest  rank  are  alike 
16 


242  AUrOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

thrown  too  much  into  situations  of  danger  and  temptation.* 
I  might  mention  some  additional  circumstances  of  criminal 
aggravation  in  this  lady's  case  ;  but,  as  they  would  tend  to 
point  out  the  real  person  to  those  acquainted  with  her 
history,  I  shall  forbear.  She  has  since  made  a  noise  in 
the  world,  and  has  maintained,  I  believe,  a  tolerably  fair 
reputation.  Soon  after  sunrise  the  next  morning,  a 
heavenly  morning  of  June,  we  dropped  our  anchor  in  the 
famous  Bay  of  Dublin.  There  was  a  dead  calm  ;  the  sea 
was  like  a  lake  ;  and,  as  we  were  some  miles  from  the 
Pigeon  House,  a  boat  was  manned  to  put  us  on  shore.  The 
lovely  lady,  unaware  that  we  were  parties  to  her  guilty 
secret,  went  with  us,  accompanied  by  her  numerous  attend- 
ants, and  looking  as  beautiful,  and  hardly  less  innocent, 
than  an  angel.  Long  afterwards,  Lord  Westport  and  I 
met  her,  hanging  upon  the  arm  of  her  husband,  a  manly 
and  good-natured  man,  of  polished  manners,  to  whom  she 
introduced  us  ;  for  she  voluntarily  challenged  us  as  her 
fellow-voyagers,  and,  I  suppose,  had  no  suspicion  which 
pointed  in  our  direction.  She  even  joined  her  husband  in 
cordially  pressing  us  to  visit  them  at  their  magnificent 
chatenu.  Upon  us,  meantime,  whatever  might  be  her  levity, 
the  secret  of  which  accident  had  put  us  in  possession 
pressed  with  a  weight  of  awe  ;  we  shuddered  at  our  own 
discovery  ;  and  we  both  agreed  to  drop  no  hint  of  it  in  any 
direction.t 


*  But  see  the  note  on  this  point  at  the  end  of  the  vohime. 

t  Lord  Westport's  age  at  that  time  was  the  same  as  my  own  ;  that 
is,  we  both  wanted  a  few  months  of  being  fifteen.  But  I  had  the 
advantage,  perhaps,  in  tlioughtfulness  and  observation  of  life.  Being 
thoroughly  free,  however,  from  opinionativeness,  Lord  "Westport 
readily  came  over  to  any  views  of  mine  for  whit-h  I  could  show  .suffi- 
cient grounds.  And  on  this  occasion  I  found  no  difficulty  in  convin- 
cing him  that  honor  and  fidelity  did  not  form  sufficient  guaranties 


THE    NATION    OF    LONDON,  24.3 

Landing  about  three  miles  from  Dublin,  (according  to  my 
present  remembrance  at  Dunleary,)  we  were  not  long  in 
reaching  Sackville  Street. 

for  the  custody  of  secrets.  Presence  of  mind  so  as  to  revive  one's 
oblij^'^ations  in  time,  tenacity  of  recollection,  and  vigilance  over  one's 
own  momentary  slips  of  tongue,  so  as  to  keep  watch  over  indirect 
disclosures,  ai'e  also  requisite.  And  at  that  time  I  had  an  instance 
within  my  own  remembrance  where  a  secret  had  been  betrayed,  by  a 
person  of  undoubted  honor,  but  most  inadvertently  betrayed,  and  iu 
pure  oblivion  of  his  engagement  to  silence.  Indeed,  unless  where  the 
secret  is  of  a  nature  to  affect  some  person's  life,  I  do  not  believe  that 
most  people  would  remember  beyond  a  period  of  two  years  the  most 
solemn  obligations  to  secrecy.  After  a  lapse  of  time,  varying  of 
course  with  the  person,  the  substance  of  the  secret  will  remain  upon 
the  mind ;  but  how  he  came  by  the  secret,  or  under  what  circum- 
stances, he  will  very  probably  have  forgotten.  It  is  unsafe  to  rely 
upon  the  most  religious  or  sacramental  obligation  to  secrecy,  uiiless, 
together  with  the  secret,  you  could  transfer  also  a  magic  ring  that 
should,  by  a  growing  pressure  or  puncture,  sting  a  man  into  timely 
alarm  and  warning. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 
DUBLIN. 

In  Sackville  Street  stood  the  town  house  of  Lord  Alta- 
mont ;  and  here,  in  the  breakfast  room,  we  found  the  earl 
seated.  Long  and  intimately  as  I  had  known  Lord  West- 
port,  it  so  happened  that  I  had  never  seen  his  father,  who 
had,  indeed,  of  late  almost  pledged  himself  to  a  continued 
residence  in  Ireland  by  his  own  patriotic  earnestness  as  an 
agricultural  improver ;  whilst  for  his  son,  under  the  diffi- 
culties and  delays  at  that  time  of  all  travelling,  any  resi- 
dence whatever  in  England  seemed  preferable,  but  espe- 
cially a  residence  with  his  mother  amongst  the  relatives  of 
his  distinguished  English  grandfather,  and  in  such  close 
neighborhood  to  Eton.  Lord  Altamont  once  told  me, 
that  the  journey  outward  and  inward  between  Eton  and 
Westport,  taking  into  account  all  the  unavoidable  devia- 
tions from  the  direct  route,  in  compliance  with  the  claims 
of  kinship,  &c.,  (a  case  which  in  Ireland  forced  a  traveller 
often  into  a  perpetual  zigzag,)  counted  up  to  something 
more  than  a  thousand  miles.  That  is,  in  effect,  vvlren 
valued  in  loss  of  time,  and  allowance  being  made  for  the 
want  of  continuity  in  those  parts  of  the  travelling  system 
that  did  not  accurately  dovetail  into  each  other,  not  less 
than  die  entire  fortnight  must  be  annually  sunk  upon  a 

244 


DUBLIN.  245 

labor  that  yielded  no  commensm-ate  fruit.  Hence  the 
long  three-years'  interval  which  had  separated  father  and 
son  ;  and  hence  my  own  nervous  apprehension,  as  we  were 
racing  through  the  suburbs  of  Dublin,  that  I  should  una- 
voidably lay  a  freezing  restraint  upon  that  reunion  to 
which,  after  such  a  separation,  both  father  and  son  must 
have  looked  forward  with  anticipation  so  anxious.  Such 
cases  of  unintentional  intrusion  arc  at  times  inevitable ; 
but,  even  to  the  least  sensitive,  they  are  always  distressing- 
most  of  all  they  are  so  to  the  intruder,  who  in  fact  feels 
himself  in  the  odd  position  of  a  criminal  without  a  crime. 
He  is  in  the  situation  of  one  who  might  have  happened  to 
be  chased  by  a  Bengal  tiger  (or,  say  that  the  tiger  were  a 
sheriff's  officer)  into  the  very  centre  of  the  Eleusinian 
mysteries^  Do  not  tease  me,  my  reader,  by  alleging  that 
there  were  no  sheriffs'  officers  at  Athens  or  Eleusis.  Not 
many,  I  admit ;  but  perhaps  quite  as  many  as  there  were 
of  Bengal  tigers.  In  such  a  case,  under  whatever  com- 
pulsion, the  man  has  violated  a  holy  seclusion.  He  has 
seen  that  which  he  ought  not  to  have  seen  ;  and  he  is 
viewed  with  horror  by  the  privileged  spectators.  Should 
he  plead  that  this  was  his  misfortune,  and  not  his  fault,  the 
answer  would  be,  "  True  ;  it  was  your  misfortune  ;  we 
know  it ;  and  it  is  our  misfortune  to  be  under  the  necessity 
of  hating  you  for  it."  But  there  was  no  cause  for  similar 
fears  at  present ;  so  uniformly  considerate  in  his  kindness 
was  Lord  Altamont.  It  is  true,  that  Lord  Westport,  as  an 
only  child,  and  a  child  to  be  proud  of,  —  for  he  was  at 
that  time  rather  handsome,  and  conciliated  general  good 
will  by  his  engaging  manners,  —  was  viewed  by  his  father 
with  an  anxiety  of  love  that  sometimes  became  almost 
painful  to  witness.  But  this  natural  self-surrender  to  a 
first  involuntary  emotion  Lord  Altamont  did  not  suffer  to 
usurp  any  such  lengthened  expression  as  might  too  pain- 


246  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

fully  have  reminded  me  of  being  "  one  too  many."  One 
solitary  half  minute  being  paid  down  as  a  tribute  to  the 
sanctities  of  the  case,  his  next  care  was  to  withdraw  me, 
the  stranger,  from  any  oppressive  feeling  of  strangership. 
And  accordingly,  so  far  from  realizing  the  sense  of  being 
an  intruder,  in  one  minute  under  his  courteous  welcome 
I  had  come  to  feel  that,  as  the  companion  of  his  one 
darling  upon  earth,  me  also  he  comprehended  within  his 
paternal  regards. 

It  must  have  been  nine  o'clock  precisely  when  we  en- 
tered the  breakfast  room.  So  much  I  know  by  an  a  priori 
argument,  and  could  wish,  therefore,  that  it  had  been 
scientifically  important  to  know  it  —  as  important,  for  in- 
stance, as  to  know  the  occultation  of  a  star,  or  the  transit 
of  Venus  to  a  second.  For  the  urn  was  at  that  moment 
placed  on  the  table  ;  and  though  Ireland,  as  a  whole,  is 
privileged  to  be  irregular,  yet  such  was  our  Sackville 
Street  regularity,  that  not  so  much  nine  o'clock  announced 
this  periodic  event,  as  inversely  this  event  announced  nine 
o'clock.  And  I  used  to  affirm,  however  shocking  it  might 
sound  to  poor  threadbare  metaphysicians  incapable  of 
transcendental  truths,  that  not  nine  o'clock  was  the  cause 
of  revealing  the  breakfast  urn,  but,  on  the  contrary,  that 
the  revelation  of  the  breakfast  urn  was  the  true  and  secret 
cause  of  nine  o'clock  —  a  phenomenon  which  otherwise 
no  candid  reader  will  pretend  that  he  can  satisfactorily 
account  for,  often  as  he  has  known  it  to  come  round.  The 
urn  was  already  throwing  up  its  column  of  fuming  mist; 
and  the  breakfast  table  was  covered  with  June  flowers  sent 
by  a  lady  on  the  chance  of  Lord  Westport's  arrival.  It 
was  clear,  therefore,  that  we  were  expected  ;  but  so  we 
had  been  for  three  or  four  days  previously ;  and  it  illus- 
trates the  enormous  uncertainties  of  travelling  at  this 
closing  era  of  the  eighteenth  century,  that  for  three  or 


DUBLIN.  247 

four  days  more  we  should  have  been  expected  without  the 
least  anxiety  in  case  any  thing  had  occurred  to  detain  us 
on  the  road.  In  fact,  the  possibility  of  a  Holyhead  packet 
being  lost  had  no  place  in  the  catalogue  of  adverse  contin- 
gencies—  not  even  when  calculated  by  mothers.  To 
come  by  way  of  Liverpool  or  Parkgate,  was  not  without 
grounds  of  reasonable  fear  :  I  myself  had  lost  acquaint- 
ances (schoolboys)  on  each  of  those  lines  of  transit. 
Neither  Bristol  nor  Milford  Haven  was  entirely  cloudless 
in  reputation.  But  from  Holyhead  only  one  packet  had 
ever  been  lost ;  and  that  was  in  the  days  of  Queen  Anne, 
when  I  have  good  reason  to  think  that  a  villain  was  on 
board,  who  hated  the  Duke  of  Marlborough ;  so  that  this 
one  exceptional  case,  far  from  being  looked  upon  as  a 
public  calamity,  would,  of  course,  be  received  thankfully 
as  cleansing  the  nation  from  a  scamp. 

Ireland  was  still  smoking  with  the  embers  of  rebellion; 
and  Lord  Cornwallis,  who  had  been  sent  expressly  to  extin- 
guish it,  and  had  won  the  reputation  of  having  fulfilled  this 
mission  with  energy  and  success,  was  then  the  lord 
lieutenant ;  and  at  that  moment  he  was  regarded  with 
more  interest  than  any  other  public  man.  Accordingly  I 
was  not  sorry  when,  two  mornings  after  our  arrival.  Lord 
Altamont  said  to  us  at  breakfast,  "  Now,  if  you  wish  to  see 
what  I  call  a  great  man,  go  with  me  this  morning,  and  you 
shall  see  Lord  Cornwallis  ;  for  that  man  who  has  given 
peace  both  to  the  east  and  to  the  west — taming  a  tiger  in 
the  Mysore  that  hated  England  as  much  as  Hannibal  hated 
Rome,  and  in  Ireland  pulling  up  by  the  roots  a  French 
invasion,  combined  with  an  Irish  insurrection  —  will  always 
for  me  rank  as  a  great  man."  We  willingly  accompanied 
the  earl  to  the  Phoenix  Park,  where  the  lord  lieutenant 
was  then  residing,  and  were  privately  pi-esented  to  him.     I 


248  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

had  seen  an  engi-aving  (celebrated,  I  believe,  in  its  day) 
of  Lord  Cornwallis  receiving  the  young  Mysore  princes  as 
hostages  at  Seringapatam  ;  and  I  knew  the  outline  of  his 
public  services.  This  gave  me  an  additional  interest  in 
seeing  him ;  but  I  was  disappointed  to  find  no  traces  in  his 
manner  of  the  energy  and  activity  I  presumed  him  to 
possess ;  he  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  slow  or  even  heavy, 
but  benevolent  and  considerate  in  a  degree  which  won  the 
confidence  at  once.  Him  we  saw  often  ;  for  Lord  Alta- 
mont  took  us  with  him  wherever  and  whenever  we  wished ; 
and  me  in  particular  (to  whom  the  Irish  leaders  of  society 
were  as  yet  entirely  unknown  by  sight)  it  gratified  highly 
to  see  persons  of  historical  names  —  names,  I  mean,  his- 
torically connected  with  the  great  events  of  Elizabeth's  or 
Cromwell's  era  —  attending  at  the  Phoenix  Park.  But  the 
persons  whom  I  remember  most  distinctly  of  all  whom  I 
was  then  in  the  habit  of  seeing,  were  Lord  Clare,  the 
chancellor,  the  late  Lord  Londonderry,  (then  Castlereagh,) 
at  that  time  the  Irish  chancellor  of  the  exchequer,  and  the 
speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  (Mr.  Foster,  since,  I 
believe,  created  Lord  Oriel.)  With  the  speaker,  indeed, 
Lord  Altamont  had  more  intimate  grounds  of  connection 
than  with  any  other  public  man  ;  both  being  devoted  to  the 
encouragement  and  personal  superintendence  of  great 
agricultural  improvements.  Both  were  bent  on  intro- 
ducing, through  models  diffused  extensively  on  their  own 
estates,  English  husbandry,  English  improved  breeds  of 
cattle,  and,  where  that  was  possible,  English  capital  and 
skill,  into  the  rural  economy  of  Ireland. 

Amongst  the  splendid  spectacles  which  I  witnessed,  as 
the  mcst  splendid  I  may  mention  an  installation  of  the 
Knights  of  St.  Patrick.  There  were  six  knights  installed 
on  this  occasion,  one  of  the  six  being  Lord  Altamont.  He 
had  no  doubt  received    his    ribbon  as  a   reward    for   his 


DUBLIN.  249 

parliamentary  votes,  and  especially  in  the  matter  of  the  union ; 
yet,  from  all  his  conversation  upon  that  question,  and  from 
the  general  conscientiousness  of  his  private  life,  I  am  con- 
vinced that  he  acted  all  along  upon  patriotic  motives,  and 
HI  obedience  to  his  real  views  (whether  right  or  wrong)  of 
the  Irish  interests.  One  chief  reason,  indeed,  which  de- 
tained us  in  Dublin,  was  the  necessity  of  staying  for  this 
particular  installation.  At  one  time.  Lord  Altamont  had 
designed  to  take  his  son  and  myself  for  the  two  esquires 
who  attend  the  new-made  knight,  according  to  the  ritual 
of  this  ceremony  ;  but  that  plan  was  laid  aside,  on  learn- 
ing that  the  other  five  knights  were  to  be  attended  by 
adults ;  and  thus,  from  being  partakers  as  actors,  my  friend 
and  I  became  simple  spectators  of  this  splendid  scene, 
which  took  place  in  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Patrick.  So 
easily  does  mere  external  pomp  slip  out  of  the  memory, 
as  to  all  its  circumstantial  items,  leaving  behind  nothing 
beyond  the  general  impression,  that  at  this  moment  I  re- 
member no  one  incident  of  the  whole  ceremonial,  except 
that  some  foolish  person  laughed  aloud  as  the  knights  went 
up  with  their  offerings  to  the  altar  ;  the  object  of  this  un- 
feeling laughter  being  apparently  Lord  Altamont,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  lame  —  a  singular  instance  of  levity  to  exhibit 
within  the  walls  of  such  a  building,  and  at  the  most  solemn 
part  of  such  a  ceremony,  which  to  my  mind  had  a  three- 
fold grandeur:  1st,  as  syjjibolic  and  shadowy;  2d,  as  repre- 
senting the  interlacings  of  chivalry  with  religion  in  the 
higliest  aspirations  of  both;  3d,  as  national;  placing  the 
heraldries  and  military  pomps  of  a  people,  so  memorably 
faithful  to  St.  Peter's  chair,  at  the  foot  of  the  altar.  Lord 
Westport  and  I  sat  with  Lord  and  Lady  Castlereagh.  They 
were  both  young  at  this  time,  and  both  wore  an  impressive 
appearance  of  youthful  happiness ;  neither,  happily  for 
their  peace   of  mind,  able  to  pierce   that  cloud  of  years, 


250  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES, 

not  much  more  than  twenty,  which  divided  them  from  the 
day  destined  in  one  hour  to  wrecl<  the  happiness  of  both. 
We  had  met  both  on  other  occasions ;  and  their  conversa- 
tion, through  the  course  of  that  day''s  pomps,  was  the  most 
interesting  circumstance  to  me,  and  the  one  which  I 
remember  with  most  distinctness  of  all  that  belonged  to 
the  installation.  By  the  way,  one  morning,  on  occasion 
of  some  conversation  arising  about  Irish  bulls,  I  made  an 
agreement  with  Lord  Altamont  to  note  down  in  a  memo- 
randum book  every  thing  throughout  my  stay  in  Ireland, 
which,  to  my  feeling  as  an  Englishman,  should  seem  to 
be,  or  should  approach  to,  a  bull.  And  this  day,  at  dinner, 
I  reported  from  Lady  Castlereagh's  conversation  what 
struck  me  as  such.  Lord  Altamont  laughed,  and  said, 
"  My  dear  child,  I  am  sorry  that  it  should  so  happen,  for  it 
is  bad  to  stumble  at  the  beginning  ;  your  bull  is  certainly 
a  bull  ;*  but  as  certainly  Lady  Castlereagh  is  your  country- 
woman, and  not  an  Irishwoman  at  all."  Lady  Castlereagh, 
it  seems,  was  a  daughter  of  Lord  Buckinghamshire  ;  and 
her  maiden  name  was  Lady  Emily  Hobart. 

One  other  public  scene  there  was,  about  this  time,  in 
Dublin,  to  the  eye  less  captivating,  but  far  more  so  in  a 

*  The  idea  of  a  bull  is  even  yet  undefined  ;  wliich  is  most  extraor- 
dinary, considering  that  Miss  Edgeworth  has  applied  all  her  tact  and 
illustrative  power  to  furnish  the  matter  for  such  a  definition,  and 
Coleridge  all  his  philosophic  subtlety  (but  in  this  instance,  I  think, 
with  a  most  infelicitous  result)  to  furnish  its  form.  But  both  have 
been  too  fastidious  in  their  admission  of  bulls.  Thus,  for  example, 
Miss  Edgeworth  rejects,  as  no  true  bull,  the  common  Joe  Miller  story, 
that,  upon  two  Irishmen  reaching  Barnet,  and  being  told  that  it  was 
still  twelve  miles  to  London,  one  of  them  remarked,  "  Ah !  just  six 
miles  ajxice."  This,  says  Miss  E.,  is  no  bull,  but  a  sentimental  re- 
mark on  the  maxim,  that  friendship  divides  our  pains.  Nothing  of 
the  kind  :  Miss  Edgeworth  cannot  have  understood  it.  The  bull  is  a 
true  representative  and  exemplary  specimen  of  the  genus. 


DUBLIN.  251 

moral  sense  ;  more  significant  practically,  more  burdened 
with  hope  and  with  fear.  This  was  the  final  ratification 
of  the  bill  which  united  Ireland  to  Great  Britain.  I  do  not 
know  that  any  one  public  act,  or  celebration,  or  solemnity, 
in  my  time,  did,  or  could,  so  much  engage  my  profoundest 
sympathies.  Wordsworth's  fine  sonnet  on  the  extinction 
of  the  Venetian  republic  had  not  then  been  published, 
else  the  last  two  lines  would  have  expressed  my  feelings. 
After  admitting  that  changes  had  taken  place  in  Venice, 
which  in  a  manner  challenged  and  presumed  this  last  and 
mortal  change,  the  poet  goes  on  to  say,  that  all  this  long 
preparation  for  the  event  could  not  break  the  shock  of  it. 
Venice,  it  is  true,  had  become  a  shade  ;  but,  after  all, — 

"  Men  are  we,  and  must  grieve  when  even  the  shade 
Of  that  which  once  was  great  has  passed  away." 

But  here  the  previous  circumstances  were  far  different 
from  those  of  Venice.  There  we  saw  a  superannuated  and 
paralytic  state,  sinking  at  any  rate  into  the  grave,  and 
yielding,  to  the  touch  of  military  violence,  that  only  which 
a  brief  lapse  of  years  must  otherwise  have  yielded  to 
internal  decay.  Here,  on  the  contrary,  we  saw  a  young 
eagle,  rising  into  power,  and  robbed  prematurely  of  her 
natural  honors,  only  because  she  did  not  comprehend  their 
value,  or  because  at  this  great  crisis  she  had  no  champion. 
Ireland,  in  a  political  sense,  was  surely  then  in  her  youth, 
considering  the  prodigious  developments  she  has  since 
experienced  in  population  and  in  resources  of  all  kinds. 
This  great  day  of  union  had  been  long  looked  forward 
to  by  me  ;  with  some  mixed  feelings  also  by  my  young 
friend,  for  he  had  an  Irish  heart,  and  was  jealous  of  what- 
ever appeared  to  touch  the  banner  of  Ireland.  But  it  was 
not  for  him  to  say  any  thing  which  should  seem  to  impeach 
his  father's  patriotism  in  voting  for  the  union,  and  promot- 


252  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

ing  it  through  his  borough  influence.  Yet  oftentimes  it 
seemed  to  me,  when  I  introduced  the  subject,  and  sought  to 
learn  from  Lord  AUamont  the  main  grounds  which  had 
reconciled  him  and  other  men,  anxious  for  the  welfare  of 
Ireland,  to  a  measure  which  at  lea.st  robbed  her  of  some 
splendor,  and,  above  all,  robbed  her  of  a  name  and  place 
amongst  the  independent  states  of  Europe,  that  neither 
father  nor  son  was  likely  to  be  displeased,  should  some 
great  popular  violence  put  force  upon  the  recorded  will  of 
Parliament,  and  compel  the  two  Houses  to  perpetuate  them- 
selves. Dolorous  they  must  of  course  have  looked,  in  mere 
consistency  ;  but  I  fancied  that  internally  they  would  have 
laughed.  Lord  AUamont,  I  am  certain,  believed  (as  multi- 
tudes believed)  that  Ireland  would  be  bettered  by  the  com- 
mercial advantages  conceded  to  her  as  an  integral  province 
of  the  empire,  and  would  have  benefits  which,  as  an  inde- 
pendent kingdom,  she  had  not.  It  is  notorious  that  this 
expectation  was  partially  realized.  But  let  us  ask,  Could 
not  a  large  part  of  these  benefits  have  been  secured  to  Ire- 
land, remaining  as  she  was  ?  Were  they,  in  any  sense, 
dependent  on  the  sacrifice  of  her  separate  parliament  ? 
For  my  part,  I  believe  that  Mr.  Pitt's  motive  for  insisting 
on  a  legislative  union  was,  in  a  small  proportion,  perhaps, 
the  somewhat  elevated  desire  to  connect  his  own  name  with 
the  historical  changes  of  the  empire ;  to  have  it  stamped, 
not  on  events  so  fugitive  as  those  of  war  and  peace,  liable 
to  oblivion  or  eclipse,  but  on  the  permanent  relations  of  its 
integral  parts.  In  a  still  larger  proportion  I  believe  his 
motive  to  have  been  one  of  pure  convenience,  the  wish  to 
exonerate  himself  from  the  intolerable  vexation  of  a  double 
parliament.  In  a  government  such  as  ours,  so  care-laden 
at  any  rate,  it  is  certainly  most  harassing  to  have  the  task 
of  soliciting  a  measure  by  management  and  influence  twice 
over  —  two  trials  to   organize,  two   storms   of  anxiety  to 


DUBLIN.  253 

face,  and  two  refractory  gangs  to  discipline,  instead  of  one. 
It  must  also  be  conceded  that  no  treasury  influence  could 
always  avail  to  prevent  injurious  collisions  between  acts  of 
the  Irish  and  the  British  Parliaments.  In  Dublin,  as  in 
London,  the  government  must  lay  its  account  with  being 
occasionally  outvoted  ;  this  would  be  likely  to  happen  pecu- 
liarly upon  Irish  questions.  And  acts  of  favor  or  pro- 
tection would  at  times  pass  on  behalf  of  Irish  interests, 
not  only  clashing  with  more  general  ones  of  the  central 
government,  but  indirectly  also  (through  the  virtual  con- 
solidation of  the  two  islands  since  the  era  of  steam)  opening 
endless  means  for  evading  British  acts,  even  within  their 
own  separate  sphere  of  operation.  On  these  considerations, 
even  an  Irishman  must  grant  that  public  convenience  called 
for  the  absorption  of  all  local  or  provincial  supremacies 
into  the  central  supremacy.  And  there  were  two  brief 
arguments  which  gave  weight  to  those  considerations  :  First, 
that  the  evils  likely  to  arise  (and  which  in  France  have 
arisen)  from  what  is  termed,  in  modern  pohtics,  the  prin- 
ciple of  centralization,  have  been  for  us  either  evaded  or 
neutralized.  The  provinces,  to  the  very  farthest  nook  of 
these  "  nook-shotten  "  islands,  react  upon  London  as  power- 
fully as  London  acts  upon  them ;  so  that  no  counterpoise  is  re- 
quired with  us,  as  in  France  it  is,  to  any  inordinate  influ- 
ence at  the  centre.  Secondly,  the  very  pride  and  jealousy 
which  could  avail  to  dictate  the  retention  of  an  independent 
parliament  would  effectually  preclude  any  modern  "  Poy- 
ning's  Act,"  having  for  its  object  to  prevent  the  collision  of 
the  local  with  the  central  government.  Each  would  be 
supreme  within  its  own  sphere,  and  those  spheres  could  not 
but  clash.  The  separate  Irish  Parliament  was  originally  no 
badge  of  honor  or  independence  :  it  began  in  motives  of 
convenience,  or  perhaps  necessity,  at  a  period  when  tho 
communication  was  difficult,  slow,  and  interrupted.     Any 


254  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

parliament,  which  arose  on  that  footing,  it  was  possible  to 
guard  by  a  Poyning's  Act,  making,  in  effect,  all  laws  null 
which  should  happen  to  contradict  the  supreme  or  central 
will.  But  what  law,  in  a  corresponding  temper,  could 
avail  to  limit  the  jurisdiction  of  a  parliament  which  con- 
fessedly had  been  retained  on  a  principle  of  national  hon- 
or ?  Upon  every  consideration,  therefore,  of  convenience, 
and  were  it  only  for  the  necessities  of  public  business,  the 
absorption  of  the  local  into  the  central  parliament  had  now 
come  to  speak  a  language  that  perhaps  could  no  longer  be 
evaded  ;  and  that  Irishman  only  could  consistently  oppose 
the  measure  who  should  take  his  stand  upon  principles 
transcending  convenience  ;  looking,  in  fact,  singly  to  the 
honor  and  dignity  of  a  country  which  it  was  annually  be- 
coming less  absurd  to  suppose  capable  of  an  independent 
existence. 

Meantime,  in  those  days,  Ireland  had  no  adequate  cham- 
pion ;  the  Hoods  and  the  Grattans  were  not  up  to  the  mark. 
Refractory  as  they  were,  they  moved  within  the  paling  of 
order  and  decorum  ;  they  were  not  the  Titans  for  a  war 
against  the  heavens.  When  the  public  feeling  beckoned 
and  loudly  supported  them,  they  could  follow  a  lead  which 
they  appeared  to  head  ;  but  they  could  not  create  such  a 
body  of  public  feeling,  nor,  when  created,  could  they  throw 
it  into  a  suitable  organization.  What  they  could  do,  was 
simply  as  ministerial  agents  and  rhetoricians  to  prosecute 
any  general  movement,  when  the  national  arm  had  cloven 
a  channel  and  opened  the  road  before  them.  Consequently, 
that  great  opening  for  a  turbulent  son  of  thunder  passed 
unimproved  ;  and  the  great  day  drew  near  without  symp- 
toms of  tempest.  At  last  it  arrived  ;  and  I  remember 
nothing  which  indicated  as  much  ill  temper  in  the  public 
mind  as  I  have  seen  on  many  hundreds  of  occasions,  trivial 
by  comparison,  in  London.     Lord  Westport  and  I  were 


DUBLIN.  255 

determined  to  lose  no  part  of  the  scene,  and  we  went  down 
with  Lord  Altamont  to  the  house.  It  was  about  the 
middle  of  the  day,  and  a  great  mob  filled  the  wh(jle  space 
about  the  two  houses.  As  Lord  Altamont's  coach  drew  up 
to  the  steps  of  that  splendid  edifice,  we  heard  a  prodigious 
hissing  and  hooting  ;  and  I  was  really  agitated  to  think  that 
Lord  Altamont,  whom  I  loved  and  respected,  would  probably 
have  to  make  his  way  through  a  tempest  of  public  wrath 
—  a  situation  more  terrific  to  him  than  to  others,  from  his 
embarrassed  walking.  I  found,  however,  that  I  might 
have  spared  my  anxiety  ;  the  subject  of  commotion  was, 
simply,  that  Major  Sirr,  or  Major  Swan,  I  forget  which, 
(both  being  celebrated  in  those  days  for  their  energy,  as 
leaders  of  the  police,)  had  detected  a  person  in  the  act  of 
mistaking  some  other  man's  pocket  handkerchief  for  his 
own  — a  most  natural  mistake,  I  should  fancy,  where  people 
stood  crowded  together  so  thickly.  No  storm  of  any  kind 
awaited  us,  and  yet  at  that  moment  there  was  no  other 
arrival  to  divide  the  public  attention  ;  for,  in  order  that  we 
might  see  every  thing  from  first  to  last,  we  were  amongst 
the  very  earliest  parties.  Neither  did  our  party  escape 
under  any  mistake  of  the  crowd  :  silence  had  succeeded  to 
the  uproar  caused  by  the  tender  meeting  between  the  thief 
and  the  major;  and  a  man,  who  stood  in  a  conspicuous 
situation,  proclaimed  aloud  to  those  below  him,  the  name 
or  title  of  members  as  they  drove  up.  "  That,"  said  he, 
"  is  the  Earl  of  Altamont ;  the  lame  gentleman,  I  mean." 
Perhaps,  however,  his  knowledge  did  not  extend  so  far  as 
to  the  politics  of  a  nobleman  who  had  taken  no  violent  or 
factious  part  in  public  afl^'airs.  At  least,  the  dreaded  in- 
sults did  not  follow,  or  only  in  the  very  feeblest  manifesta- 
tions. We  entered  ;  and,  byway  of  seeing  every  thing,  we 
went  even  to  the  robing  room.  The  man  who  presented 
his  robes  to  Lord  Altamont  seemed  to  me,  of  all  whom  I 


iiOO  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

saw  on  that  day^  the  one  who  wore  the  face  of  deepest  de- 
pression. But  whether  this  indicated  the  loss  of  a  lucra- 
tive situation,  or  was  really  disinterested  sorrow,  growing 
out  of  a  patriotic  trouble,  at  the  knowledge  that  he  was 
now  officiating  for  the  last  time,  I  could  not  guess.  The 
House  of  Lords,  decorated  (if  I  remember)  with  hangings, 
representing  the  battle  of  the  Boyne,  was  nearly  empty 
when  we  entered  —  an  accident  which  furnished  to  Lcrd 
Altamont  the  opportunity  required  for  explaining  to  us  the 
whole  course  and  ceremonial  of  public  business  on  ordinary 
occasions. 

Gradually  the  house  filled  ;  beautiful  women  sat  inter- 
mingled amongst  the  peers  ;  and,  in  one  party  of  these,  sur- 
rounded by  a  bevy  of  admirers,  we  saw  our  fair  but  frail 
enchantress  of  the  packet.  She,  on  her  part,  saw  and  re- 
cognized us  by  an  affable  nod  ;  no  stain  upon  her  cheek,  in- 
dicating that  she  suspected  to  what  extent  she  was  indebted 
to  our  discretion ;  for  it  is  a  proof  of  the  unaffected  sorrow 
and  the  solemn  awe  which  oppressed  us  both,  that  we  had 
not  mentioned  even  to  Lord  Altamont,  nor  ever  did  men- 
tion, the  scene  which  chance  had  revealed  to  us.  Next 
came  a  stir  within  the  house,  and  an  uproar  resounding 
from  without,  which  announced  the  arrival  of  his  excel- 
lency. Entering  the  house,  he  also,  like  the  other  peers, 
wheeled  round  to  the  throne,  and  made  to  that  mysterious 
seat  a  profound  homage.  Then  commenced  the  public 
business,  in  which,  if  I  recollect,  the  chancellor  played  the 
most  conspicuous  part  —  that  chancellor  (Lord  Clare)  of 
whom  it  was  affirmed  in  those  days,  by  a  political  oppo- 
nent, that  he  might  swim  in  the  innocent  blood  which  he 
had  caused  to  be  shed.  But  nautical  men,  I  suspect,  would 
have  demurred  to  that  estimate.  Then  were  summoned  to 
the  bar — summoned  for  the  last  time  —  the  gentlemen  of 
the  House  of  Commons  ;  in  the  van  of  whom,  and  drawing 


DUBLIN.  257 

all  eyes  upon  himself,  stood  Lord  Castlereagh.  Then 
came  the  recitation  of  many  acts  passed  during  the  session, 
and  the  sounding  ratification,  the  Jovian 

"  Annuit,  et  nutu  totum  trcmcfecit  Olympum," 

contained  in  the  Soit  fait  covime  il  est  desire,  or  the  more 
peremptory  Le  roi  le  veut.  At  which  point  in  the  order 
of  succession  came  the  royal  assent  to  the  union  bill  I 
cannot  distinctly  recollect.  But  one  thing  I  do  recollect  — 
that  no  audible  expression,  no  buzz,  nor  murmur,  nor  su- 
surrus  even,  testified  the  feelings  which,  doubtless,  lay 
rankling  in  many  bosoms.  Setting  apart  all  public  or  pa- 
triotic considerations,  even  then  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  sur- 
veyed the  whole  assemblage  of  ermined  peers,  "  How  is  it, 
and  by  what  unaccountable  magic,  that  William  Pitt  can 
have  prevailed  on  all  these  hereditary  legislators  and  heads 
of  patrician  houses  to  renounce  so  easily,  with  nothing 
vi'orth  the  name  of  a  struggle,  and  no  reward  worth  the 
name  of  an  indemnification,  the  very  brightest  jewel  in 
their  coi'onets  ?  This  morning  they  all  I'ose  from  their 
couches  peers  of  Parliament,  individual  pillars  of  the  realm, 
indispensable  parties  to  every  law  that  could  pass.  To- 
morrow they  will  be  nobody  —  men  of  straw  —  terrce  JiJii. 
What  madness  has  persuaded  them  to  part  with  their  birth- 
right, and  to  cashier  themselves  and  their  children  forever 
into  mere  titular  loi-ds  ?  As  to  the  commoners  at  the  bar, 
their  case  was  different:  they  had  no  life  estate  at  all 
events  in  their  honors ;  and  they  might  have  the  same 
chance  for  entering  the  imperial  Parliament  amongst  the 
hundred  Irish  members  as  for  reentering  a  native  parlia- 
ment. Neither,  again,  amongst  the  peers  was  the  case 
always  equal.  Several  of  the  higher  had  English  titles, 
which  would,  at  any  rate,  open  the  central  Parliament  to 
their  ambhion.  That  privilege,  in  particular,  attached  to 
17 


258  ATTTOBIOGHAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Lord  Altamont.*  And  he,  in  any  case,  from  his  large 
prope.'ty,  was  tolerably  sure  of  finding  his  way  thither  (as 
in  fact  for  the  rest  of  his  life  he  did)  amongst  the  twenty- 
eight  representative  peers.  The  wonder  was  in  the  case 
of  petty  and  obscure  lords,  who  had  no  weight  personally, 
and  none  in  right  of  their  estates.  Of  these  men,  as  they 
were  notoriously  not  enriched  by  Mr.  Pitt,  as  the  distribu- 
tion of  honors  was  not  very  large,  and  as  no  honor  could 
countervail  the  one  they  lost,  I  could  not,  and  cannot, 
fathom  the  policy.  Thus  much  I  am  sure  of — that,  had 
such  a  measure  been  proposed  by  a  political  speculator 
previously  to  Queen  Anne's  reign,  he  would  have  been 
scouted  as  a  dreamer  and  a  visionary,  who  calculated  upon 
men  being  generally  somewhat  worse  than  Esau,  viz.,  giv- 
ing up  their  birthrights,  and  jvithout  the  mess  of  pottage. 
However,  on  this  memorable  day,  thus  it  was  the  union 
was  ratified ;  the  bill  received  the  royal  assent  without  a 
muttering,  or  a  whispering,  or  the  protesting  echo  of  a  sigh. 
Perhaps  there  might  be  a  little  pause  —  a  silence  like  that 
which  follows  an  earthquake  ;  but  there  was  no  plain-spoken 
Lord  Belhaven,  as  on  the  corresponding  occasion  in  Edin- 
burgh, to  fill  up  the  silence  with  "  So,  there's  an  end  of  an 
auld  sang !  "  All  was,  or  looked  courtly,  and  free  from 
vulgar  emotion.  One  person  only  I  remarked  whose  fea- 
tures were  suddenly  illuminated  by  a  smile,  a  sarcastic 
smile,  as  I  read  it ;  which,  however,  might  be  all  a  fancy. 
It  was  Lord  Castlereagh,  who,  at  the  moment  when  the  ir- 
revocable words  were  pronounced,  looked  with  a  penetrat- 
ing glance  amongst  a  party  of  ladies.  His  own  wife  was 
one  of  that  party ;  but  I  did  not  discover  the  particular  ob- 
ject on  whom  his  smile  had  settled.     After  this  I  had  no 

*  According  to  my  remembrance,  he  was  Baron  Mounteagle  in  th6 
English  peerage. 


DUBLIN.  259 

leisure  to  be  interested  in  any  thing  which  followed.  "  You 
are  all,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  a  pack  of  vagabonds  hence- 
forward, and  interlopers,  with  actually  no  more  right  to  be 
here  than  myself  I  am  an  intruder ;  so  are  you."  Appar- 
ently they  thought  so  themselves;  for,  soon  after  this  sol- 
emn jiat  of  Jove  had  gone  forth,  their  lordships,  having  no 
further  title  to  their  robes,  (for  which  I  could  not  help  wish- 
ing that  a  party  of  Jewish  old  clothes  men  would  at  this  mo- 
ment have  appeared,  and  made  a  loud  bidding,)  made  what 
haste  they  could  to  lay  them  aside  forever.  The  house 
dispersed  much  more  rapidly  than  it  had  assembled.  Ma- 
jor Sirr  was  found  outside,  just  where  we  left  him,  laying 
down  the  law  (as  before)  about  pocket  handkerchiefs  to  old 
and  young  practitioners ;  and  all  parties  adjourned  to  find 
what  consolation  they  might  in  the  great  evening  event  of 
dinner. 

Thus  we  were  set  at  liberty  from  Dublin.  Parliaments, 
and  installations,  and  masked  balls,  with  all  other  sec- 
ondary splendors  in  celebration  of  primary  splendors, 
reflex  glories  that  reverberated  original  glories,  at  length 
had  ceased  to  shine  upon  the  Irish  metropolis.  The 
"  season,"  as  it  is  called  in  great  chies,  was  over;  unfor- 
tunately the  last  season  that  was  ever  destined  to  illuminate 
the  society  or  to  stimulate  the  domestic  trade  of  Dublin. 
It  began  to  be  thought  scandalous  to  be  found  in  town  ; 
7iohody,  in  fact,  remained,  except  some  two  hundred  thou- 
sand people,  who 'never  did,  nor  ever  would,  wear  ermine  ; 
and  in  all  Ireland  there  remained  nothing  at  all  to  attract, 
except  that  whic  i  no  king,  and  no  two  houses,  can  by  any 
conspiracy  abolish,  viz.,  the  beauty  of  her  most  verdant 
scenery.  I  speak  of  that  part  which  chiefly  it  is  that  I 
know, —  the  scenery  of  the  west,  —  Connaught  beyond 
other  provinces,  and  in  Connaught,  Mayo  beyond  other 
counties.     There  it  was,  and  in  the  county  next  adjoining, 


260  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

that  Lord  Altamont's  large  estates  were  situated,  the  fam- 
ily mansion  and  beautiful  park  being  in  Mayo.  Thither, 
as  nothing  else  now  remained  to  divert  us  from  what,  in 
fact,  we  had  thirsted  for  throughout  the  heats  of  summer, 
and  throughout  the  magnificences  of  the  capital,  at  length 
we  set  off  by  movements  as  slow  and  circuitous  as  those 
of  any  royal  progress  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  Making 
but  short  journeys  on  each  day,  and  resting  always  at  the 
house  of  some  private  friend,  I  thus  obtained  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  old  Irish  nobility  and  gentry  more 
extensively,  and  on  a  more  intimate  footing,  than  I  had 
hoped  for.  No  experience  of  this  kind,  throughout  my 
whole  life,  so  much  interested  me.  In  a  little  work,  not 
much  known,  of  Suetonius,  the  most  interesting  record 
which  survives  of  the  early  Roman  literature,  it  comes  out 
incidentally  that  many  books,  many  idioms,  and  verbal 
peculiarities  belonging  to  the  primitive  ages  of  Roman  cul- 
ture were  to  be  found  still  lingering  in  the  old  Roman 
settlements,  both  Gaulish  and  Spanish,  long  after  they  had 
become  obsolete  (and  sometimes  unintelligible)  in  Rome. 
From  the  tardiness  and  the  difficulty  of  communication, 
the  want  of  newspapers,  &c.,  it  followed,  naturally  enough, 
that  the  distant  provincial  towns,  though  not  without  their 
own  separate  literature  and  their  own  literary  professors, 
were  always  two  or  three  generations  in  the  rear  of  the 
metropolis;  and  thus  it  happened,  that,  about  the  time  of 
Augustus,  there  were  some  grammatici  in  Rome,  answer- 
ing to  our  black-letter  critics,  who  sought  the  material 
of  their  researches  in  Boulogne,  (Gessoriacimi,)  in  Aries, 
(Arelata,)  or  in  Marseilles,  (Massilia.)  Now,  the  old 
Irish  nobility  —  that  part,  I  mean,  which  might  be  callec 
the  rural  nobility  —  stood  in  the  same  relation  to  English 
manners  and  customs.  Here  might  be  found  old  rambling 
houses  in  the  style  of  antique  English  manorial  chateaus, 


DUBLIN.  261 

ill  planned,  perhaps,  as  regarded  convenience  and  econ- 
omy, with  long  rambling  galleries,  and  windows  innumera- 
ble, that  evidently  had  never  looked  for  that  severe  audit 
to  which  they  were  afterwards  summoned  by  William 
Pitt ;  but  displaying,  in  the  dwelling  rooms,  a  comfort  and 
"  cosiness,"  combined  with  magnificence,  not  always  so 
eiTcctually  attained  in  modern  times.  Here  were  old 
libraries,  old  butlers,  and  old  customs,  that  seemed  all 
alike  to  belong  to  the  era  of  Cromwell,  or  even  an  earlier 
era  than  his ;  whilst  the  ancient  names,  to  one  who  had 
some  acquaintance  with  the  great  events  of  Irish  history, 
often  strengthened  the  illusion.  Not  that  I  could  pretend 
to  be  familiar  with  Irish  history  as  Irish ;  but  as  a  conspic- 
uous chapter  in  the  difficult  policy  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  of 
Charles  I.,  and  of  Cromwell,  nobody  who  had  read  the 
English  history  could  be  a  stranger  to  the  O'Neils,  the 
O'Donnells,  the  Ormonds,  (i.  e.,  the  Butlers,)  the  Inchiquins, 
or  the  De  Burghs,  and  many  scores  beside.  I  soon  found, 
m  fact,  that  the  aristocracy  of  Ireland  might  be  divided 
uito  two  great  sections:  the  native  Irish  —  territorial  fix- 
tures, so  powerfully  described  by  Maturin  ;  and  those,  on 
the  other  hand,  who  spent  so  much  of  their  time  and  rev- 
enues at  Bath,  Cheltenham,  Weymouth,  London,  &c.,  as 
to  have  become  almost  entirely  English.  It  was  the 
former  whom  we  chiefly  visited  ;  and  I  remarked  that,  in 
the  midst  of  hospitality  the  most  unbounded,  and  the 
amplest  comfort,  some  of  these  were  conspicuously  in  the 
rear  of  the  English  commercial  gentry,  as  to  modern  re- 
finements of  luxury.  There  was  at  the  same  time  an 
apparent  strength  of  character,  as  if  formed  amidst  turbu- 
lent scenes,  and  a  raciness  of  manner,  which  were  fitted  to 
interest  a  stranger  profoundly,  and  to  impress  themselves 
on  his  recollection. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FIRST  REBELLION. 

In  our  road  to  Mayo,  we  were  often  upon  ground  ren- 
dered memorable,  not  only  by  historical  events,  but  more 
recently  by  the  disastrous  scenes  of  the  rebellion,  by  its 
horrors  or  its  calamities.  On  reaching  Westport  House, 
we  found  ourselves  in  situations  and  a  neighborhood  which 
had  become  the  very  centre  of  the  final  military  opera- 
tions, those  which  succeeded  to  the  main  rebellion ;  and 
wliich,  to  the  people  of  England,  and  still  more  to  the 
people  of  the  continent,  had  offered  a  character  of  interest 
wanting  to  the  inartificial  movements  of  Father  Roche  and 
Bagenal  Harvey. 

In  the  year  1798,  there  were  two  great  popular  insur- 
rections, in  Ireland.  It  is  usual  to  talk  of  the  Irish 
rebellion,  as  though  there  had  been  one  rebellion  and  no 
more  ;  but  it  must  satisfy  the  reader  of  the  inaccuracy 
pervading  the  common  reports  of  this  period,  when  he 
hears  that  there  were  two  separate  rebellions,  separate 
in  time,  separate  in  space,  separate  by  the  character  of 
their  events,  and  separate  even  as  regarded  their  proxi- 
mate causes.  The  first  of  these  arose  in  the  vernal  part 
of  summer,  and  wasted  its  fury  upon  the  county  of  Wex- 
ford, in  the  centre  of  the  kingdom.     The  second  arose  in 

262 


FIRST    REBELLION,  263 

the  autumn,  and  was  confined  entirely  to  the  western  prov 
ince  of  Connaught.  Each,  resting  (it  is  true)  upon  causes 
ultimately  the  same,  had  yet  its  own  separate  occasions 
and  excitements ;  for  the  first  arose  upon  a  premature  ex- 
plosion from  a  secret  society  of  most  subtle  organization  ; 
and  the  second  upon  the  encouragement  of  a  French  in- 
vasion. And  each  of  these  insurrections  had  its  own 
separate  leaders  and  its  own  local  agents.  The  first, 
though  precipitated  into  action  by  fortunate  discoveries 
on  the  part  of  the  government,  had  been  anxiously  pre- 
concerted for  three  years.  The  second  was  an  unpre- 
meditated effort,  called  forth  by  a  most  ill-timed,  and  also 
ill-concerted,  foreign  invasion.  The  general  predisposing 
causes  to  rebellion  were  doubtless  the  same  in  both  cases  ; 
but  the  exciting  causes  of  the  moment  were  different  in 
each.  And,  finally,  they  were  divided  by  a  complete  in- 
terval of  two  months. 

One  very  remarkable  feature  there  was,  however,  in 
which  these  two  separate  rebellions  of  1798  coincided  ; 
and  that  was,  the  narrow  range,  as  to  time,  within  which 
each  ran  its  course.  Neither  of  them  outran  the  limits  of 
one  lunar  month.  It  is  a  fact,  however  startling,  tiiat  each, 
though  a  perfect  civil  war  in  all  its  proportions,  frequent 
in  warlike  incident,  and  the  former  rich  in  tragedy,  passed 
through  all  the  stages  of  growth,  maturity,  and  final  ex- 
tinction within  one  single  revolution  of  the  moon.  For 
all  the  rebel  movements,  subsequent  to  the  morning  of 
Vinegar  Hill,  are  to  be  viewed  not  at  all  in  the  light  of 
manoeuvres  made  in  the  spirit  of  military  hope,  but  in  the 
light  of  final  struggles  for  self-preservation  made  in  the 
spirit  of  absolute  despair,  as  regarded  the  original  pur- 
poses of  the  war,  or,  indeed,  as  regarded  any  purposes 
whatever  beyond  that  of  instant  safety.  Tlie  solitary 
object   contemplated    was,    to    reach   some    district    lonely 


264  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

enough,  and  with  elbow  room  enough,  for  quiet,  unmolested 
dispersion. 

A  few  pages  will  recapitulate  these  two  civil  wars.  I 
begin  with  the  first.  The  war  of  American  separation 
touched  and  quickened  the  dry  bones  that  lay  waiting  as 
it  were  for  life  through  the  west  of  Christendom.  The 
year  1782  brought  that  war  to  its  winding  up ;  and  the 
same  year  it  was  that  called  forth  Grattan  and  the  Irish 
volunteers.  These  volunteers  came  forward  as  allies  of 
England  against  French  and  Spanish  invasion  ;  but  once 
embattled,  what  should  hinder  them  from  detecting  a  flaw 
in  their  commission,  and  reading  it  as  valid  against  Eng- 
land herself.?  In  that  sense  they  did  read  it.  That  Ire- 
land had  seen  her  own  case  dimly  reflected  in  that  of 
America,  and  that  such  a  reference  was  stirring  through 
the  national  mind,  appears  from  a  remarkable  fact  in  the 
history  of  the  year  which  followed.  In  1783,  a  haughty 
petition  was  addressed  to  the  throne,  on  behalf  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholics,  by  an  association  that  arrogated  to  itself 
the  style  and  title  of  a  congress.  No  man  could  suppose 
that  a  designation  so  ominously  significant  had  been  chosen 
by  accident  ;  and  by  the  English  government  it  was  re- 
ceived, as  it  was  meant,  for  an  insult  and  a  menace. 
What  came  next  ?  The  French  revolution.  AH  flesh 
moved  under  that  inspiration.  -Fast  and  rank  now  began 
to  germinate  the  seed  sown  for  the  ten  years  preceding  in 
Ireland  ;  too  fast  and  too  rankly  for  the  policy  that  suited 
her  situation.  Concealment  or  delay,  compromise  or  tem- 
porizing, would  not  have  been  brooked,  at  this  moment,  by 
the  fiery  temperament  of  Ireland,  had  it  not  been  through 
the  extraordinary  composition  of  that  secret  society  into 
which  the  management  of  her  affairs  now  began  to  de- 
volve. In  the  year  1792,  as  we  are  told,  commenced,  and 
in   1795  was  finished,  the  famous  association   of   United 


FIRST    REBELLION.  265 

Irishmen.  By  these  terms,  commenced  and  Jinished^  we  are 
to  utiderstaticl,  not  the  purposes  or  the  arrangements  of 
their  conspiracy  against  the  existing  government,  but  that 
network  of  organization,  delicate  as  lace  for  ladies,  and 
strong  as  the  harness  of  artillerjr  horses,  which  now  en- 
meshed ahiiost  every  province  of  Ireland,  knitting  the 
strength  of  her  peasantry  into  unity  and  disposable  di- 
visions. This,  it  seems,  was  completed  in  1795.  In  a 
complete  history  of  these  times,  no  one  chapter  would  de- 
serve so  ample  an  investigation  as  this  subtile  web  of  asso- 
ciation, rising  upon  a  large  base,  expanding  in  proportion 
to  the  extent  of  the  particular  county,  and  by  intermediate 
links  ascending  to  some  unknown  apex  ;  all  so  graduated, 
and  in  such  nice  interdependency,  as  to  secure  the  instan- 
taneous propagation  upwards  and  downwards,  laterally  or 
obliquely,  of  any  impulse  whatever  ;  and  yet  so  effectually 
shrouded,  that  nobody  knew  more  than  the  two  or  three 
individual  agents  in  immediate  juxtaposition  with  himself, 
by  whom  he  communicated  with  those  above  his  head  or 
below  his  feet.  This  organization,  in  fact,  of  the  United 
Irishmen,  combined  the  best  features,  as  to  skill,  of  the 
two  most  elaborate  and  most  successful  of  all  secret  soci- 
eties recorded  in  history ;  one  of  which  went  before  the 
Irish  Society  by  centuries,  and  one  followed  it  after  an  in- 
terval of  five-and-twenty  years.  These  two  are  the  Fehfiv- 
Gericht,  or  court  of  ban  and  extermination,  which,  having 
taken  its  rise  in  Westphalia,  is  usually  called  the  secret  Tri- 
bunal of  Westphalia,  and  which  reached  its  full  development 
in  the  fourteenth  century.  The  other  is  the  Hellenistic 
Hetseria,  (^ Enxiqut') — a  society  which,  passing  for  one  of 
pure  literary  dilettanti,  under  the  secret  countenance  of 
the  late  Capo  d'Istria,  (then  a  confidential  minister  of  the 
czar,)  did  actually  succeed  so  far  in  hoaxing  the  cabinets 
of  Europe,  that  one  third   of   European  kings   put  down 


266  AUTOSIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

their  names,  and  gave  their  aid,  as  conspirators  against  the 
Sultan  of  Turkey,  whilst  credulously  supposing  themselves 
honorary  correspondents  of  a  learned  body  for  reviving 
the  arts  and  literature  of  Athens,  These  two  I  call  the 
most  successful  of  all  secret  societies,  because  both  were 
arraj^ed  against  the  existing  administrations  throughout  the 
entire  lands  upon  which  they  sought  to  operate.  The 
German  society  disowned  the  legal  authorities  as  too  weak 
for  the  ends  of  justice,  and  succeeded  in  bringing  the  cog- 
nizance of  crimes  within  its  own  secret  yet  consecrated 
usurpation.  The  Grecian  society  made  the  existing  pow- 
ers the  final  object  of  its  hostility ;  lived  unarmed  amongst 
the  very  oppressors  whose  throats  it  had  dedicated  to  the 
sabre  ;  and,  in  a  very  few  years,  saw  its  purpose  accom- 
plished. 

The  society  of  United  Irishmen  combined  the  best  parts 
in  the  organization  of  both  these  secret  fraternities,  and 
obtained  their  advantages.  The  society  prospered  in  defi- 
ance of  the  govei'nment ;  nor  would  the  government,  though 
armed  with  all  the  powers  of  the  Dublin  police  and  of  state 
thunder,  have  succeeded  in  mastering  this  society,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  the  society  would  assuredly  have  surprised 
and  mastered  the  government,  had  it  not  been  undermined 
by  the  perfidy  of  a  confidential  brother.  One  instrument 
for  dispersing  knowledge,  employed  by  the  United  Irish- 
men, is  worth  mentioning,  as  it  is  applicable  to  any  cause, 
and  may  be  used  with  much  greater  effect  in  an  age  when 
everybody  is  taught  to  read.  They  printed  newspapers  on 
a  single  side  of  the  sheet,  which  were  thus  fitted  for  being 
placarded  against  the  walls.  This  expedient  had  probably 
been  suggested  by  Paris,  where  such  newspapers  were  often 
placarded,  and  generally  for  the  bloodiest  purposes.  But 
Louvet,  in  his  "  INIemoirs,"  mentions  one  conducted  by 
hmiself  on   better  principles :  it  was   printed  at  the   public 


FIRST    REBELLION.  2G7 

expense  ;  and  sometimes  mere  than  twenty  thousand  copies 
of  a  single  nunibei'  were  attached  to  the  corners  of  streets. 
This  was  called  the  "  Ccntinel  ; "  and  those  who  are  ac- 
quainted with  the  "  Memoirs  of  Madame  Roland  "  will  re- 
member that  she  cites  Louvet's  paper  as  a  model  for  all  of  its 
class.  The  "  Union  Star  "  was  the  paper  which  the  United 
Irishmen  published  upon  this  plan  ;  previous  papers,  on  the 
ordinary  plan,  viz.,  the  "  Northern  Star"  and  the  "  Press," 
having  been  violently  put  down  by  the  government.  The 
"  Union  Star,"  however,  it  must  be  acknowledged,  did  not 
seek  much  to  elevate  the  people  by  addressing  them  through 
their  understandings  ;  it  was  merely  a  violent  appeal  to 
their  passions,  and  directed  against  all  who  had  incurred 
the  displefisure  of  the  society.  Newspapers,  meantime,  of 
every  kind,  it  was  easy  for  the  government  to  suppress. 
But  the  secret  society  annoyed  and  crippled  the  govern- 
ment in  other  modes,  which  it  was  not  easy  to  parry  ;  and 
all  blows  dealt  in  return  were  dealt  in  the  dark,  and  aimed 
at  a  shadow.  The  society  called  upon  Irishmen  to  abstain 
generally  from  ardent  spirits,  as  a  means  of  destroying  the 
excise  ;  and  it  is  certain  that  the  society  was  obeyed,  in  a 
degree  which  astonished  neutral  observers,  all  over  Ireland. 
The  same  society,  by  a  printed  proclamation,  called  upon 
the  people  not  to  purchase  the  quitrents  of  the  crown,  which 
were  then  on  sale  ;  and  not  to  receive  bank  notes  in  pay- 
ment, because  (as  the  proclamation  told  them)  a  "  burst  " 
was  coming,  when  such  paper,  and  the  securities  for  such 
purchases,  would  fall  to  a  ruinous  discount.  In  this  case, 
after  much  distress  to  the  public  service,  government  ob- 
tained a  partial  triumph  by  the  law  which  cancelled  the 
debt  on  a  refusal  to  receive  the  state  paper,  and  which 
quartered  soldiers  upon  all  tradesmen  who  demurred  to 
such  a  tender.  But,  upon  the  whole,  i  was  becoming  pain- 
fully evident,  that  in  Ireland  there  were  two  coordinate 


2G8  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

governments  coming  into  collision  at  every  step,  and  that 
the  one  which  more  generally  had  the  upper  hand  in  the 
struggle  was  the  secret  society  of  United  Irishmen ;  whose 
members  individually,  and  whose  local  head  quarters,  were 
alike  screened  from  the  attacks  of  its  rival,  viz.,  tlie  state 
government  at  the  Castle,  by  a  cloud  of  impenstrable 
darkness. 

That  cloud  was  at  last  pierced.  A  treacherous  or  weak 
brother,  high  in  the  ranks  of  the  society,  and  deep  in  their 
confidence,  happened,  when  travelling  up  to  Dublin  in  com- 
pany with  a  royalist,  to  speak  half  mysteriously,  half 
ostentatiously,  upon  the  delicate  position  which  he  held  in 
the  councils  of  his  dangerous  party.  This  weak  man, 
Thomas  Reynolds,  a  Roman  Catholic  gentleman,  of  Kilkea 
Castle,  in  Kildare,  colonel  of  a  regiment  of  United  Irish, 
treasurer  for  Kildare,  and  in  other  offices  of  trust  for  the 
secret  society,  was  prevailed  on  by  Mr.  William  Cope,  a 
rich  merchant  of  Dublin,  who  alarmed  his  mind  by  pictures 
of  the  horrors  attending  a  revolution  under  the  circum- 
stances of  Ireland,  to  betray  all  he  knew  to  the  government. 
His  treachery  was  first  meditated  in  the  last  week  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1798  ;  and,  in  consequence  of  his  depositions,  on 
March  12,  at  the  house  of  Oliver  Bond,  in  Dublin,  the 
government  succeeded  in  arresting  a  large  body  of  the  lead- 
ing conspirators.  The  whole  committee  of  Leinster,  amount- 
ing to  thirteen  members,  was  captured  on  this  occasion  ;  but 
a  still  more  valuable  prize  was  made  in  the  persons  of  those 
who  presided  over  the  Irish  Directory,  viz.,  Emmet,  M'Ni- 
ven,  Arthur  O'Connor,  and  Oliver  Bond.  As  far  as  names 
went,  their  places  were  immediately  filled  up  ;  and  a  hand- 
bill was  issued,  on  the  same  day,  with  the  purpose  of  in- 
tercepting the  effects  of  despondency  amongst  the  great 
body  of  the  conspirators.  But  Emmet  and  O'Connor  were 
not  men  to  be  effectually  replaced  :  government  had  struck 


FIRST    REBELLION.  269 

a  fatal  blow,  without  being  fully  aware  at  first  of  their  own 
good  luck.  On  the  19th  of  May  following,  in  consequence 
of  a  proclamation  (May  11)  offering  a  thousand  pounds 
for  his  capture,  Lord  Edward  Fitzgerald  was  apprehended 
at  l]ie  house  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Murphy,  a  merchant  in  Dub- 
lin, but  after  a  very  desperate  resistance.  The  leader  of 
the  arresting  part)',  Major  Swan,  a  Dublin  magistrate,  dis- 
tinguished for  his  energy,  was  wounded  by  Lord  Edward  ; 
and  Ryan,  one  of  the  officers,  so  desperately,  that  he  died 
within  a  fortnight.  Lord  Edward  himself  languished  for 
some  time,  and  died  in  great  agony  on  the  3d  of  June, 
from  a  pistol  shot  which  took  effect  on  his  shoulder.  Lord 
Edward  Fitzgerald  might  be  regarded  as  an  injured  man. 
From  the  exuberant  generosity  of  his  temper,  he  had  power- 
fully sympathized  with  the  French  republicans  at  an 
early  stage  of  their  revolution  ;  and  having,  with  great 
indiscretion,  but  an  indiscretion  that  admitted  of  some 
palliation  in  so  young  a  man  and  of  so  ardent  a  tempera- 
ment, publicly  avowed  his  sympathy,  he  was  ignomini- 
ously  dismissed  from  the  army.  That  act  made  an  enemy 
of  one  who,  on  several  grounds,  was  not  a  man  to  be  de- 
spised ;  for,  though  weak  as  respected  his  powers  of  self- 
control,  Lord  Edward  was  well  qualified  to  make  himself 
beloved  :  he  had  considerable  talents  ;  his  very  name,  as  a 
son  of  the  only*  ducal  house  in  Ireland,  was  a  spell  and 
a  rallying  word  for  a  day  of  battle  to  the  Irish  peasantry  ; 
and,  finally,  by  his  marriage  with  a  natural  daughter  of  the 
then  Duke  of  Orleans,  he  had  founded  some  important  con- 
nections and  openings  to  secret   influence  in  France.     The 

*  "  The  onhj  ducal  house.'"  —  That  is,  the  only  one  not  royal. 
There  are  four  provinces  in  Ireland  —  Ulster,  Connaught,  Munster, 
■w'liich  three  give  old  traditional  titles  to  three  personages  of  the 
blood  royal.  Remains  only  Leinster,  which  gives  the  title  of  duke 
to  the  Fitz^eralds. 


270  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

young  lady  whom  he  had  married  was  generally  known  by 
the  name  of  Pamela  ;  and  it  has  been  usually  supposed 
that  she  is  the  person  described  by  Miss  Edgeworth,  under 
the  name  of  Virginia,  in  the  latter  part  of  her  "  Belinda." 
How  that  may  be,  1  cannot  pretend  to  say  :  Pamela  was 
certainly  led  into  some  indiscretions ;  in  particular,  she  was 
said  to  have  gone  to  a  ball  without  shoes  or  stockings,  which 
seems  to  argue  the  seme  sort  of  ignorance,  and  the  same 
docility  to  any  chance  impressions,  which  characterize  the 
Virginia  of  Miss  Edgeworth.  She  was  a  reputed  daughter 
(as  I  have  said)  of  Philippe  Egalite  ;  and  her  putative 
mother  was  Madame  de  Genlis,  who  had  been  settled  in 
that  prince's  family,  as  governess  to  his  children,  more  es- 
pecially to  the  sister  of  the  present  *  French  king.  Lord 
Edward's  whole  course  had  been  marked  by  generosity  and 
noble  feeling.  Far  better  to  have  pardoned  t  such  a  man, 
and  (if  that  were  possible)  to  have  conciliated  his  support ; 


*  "  Present  French  h'mi"  —  Viz.,  in  tlie  year  1 833. 

+  "  To  hive  pardoned  "  &,c.  —  This  was  written  under  circumstances 
of  great  hurry ;  and,  were  it  not  for  that  palliation,  would  be  inex- 
cusably thoughtless.  For,  in  a  double  sense,  it  is  doubtful  how  far  the 
government  could  have  pardoned  Lord  Edward.  First,  in  a  pru- 
dential sense,  was  it  possible  (except  in  the  spirit  of  a  German  senti- 
mentalizing drama)  to  pardon  a  conspicuous,  and  within  certain 
limits  a  very  influential,  officer  for  publicly  avowing  opinions  tending 
to  treason,  and  at  M-ar  with  tlie  constitutional  system  of  the  land  which 
fed  him  and  vrhich  claimed  his  allegiance  1  Was  it  possible,  in  point 
of  prudence  or  in  point  of  dignity,  to  overlook  such  anti-national  sen- 
timents, whilst  neither  disavowed  nor  ever  likely  to  be  disavowed  ? 
Was  this  possible,  regard  being  had  to  the  inevitable  effect  of  such 
unearned  forgiveness  upon  the  army  at  large  ?  But  secondly,  in  a 
merely  logical  sense  of  practical  self-consistency,  would  it  have  been 
rational  or  even  intelligible  to  pardon  a  man  who  probably  would  not 
be  pardoned  ;  that  is,  who  must  (consenting  or  not  consenting)  benefit 
by  the  concessions  of  the  pardon,  whilst  disowning  all  reciprocal 
obligations  ? 


FIRST    REBELLION.  271 

but,  says  a  contemporary  Irishman,  "  those  were  not  times 
of  conciliation." 

Some  days  after  this  event  were  arrested  the  two  broth- 
ers named  Shearer,  men  of  talent,  who  eventually  suffered 
for  treason.  These  discoveries  were  due  to  treachery  of  a 
peculiar  sort ;  not  to  the  treachery  of  an  apostate  brother 
breaking  his  faith,  but  of  a  counterfeit  brother  simulating 
the  character  of  conspirator,  and  by  that  fraud  obtaining  a 
key  to  the  fatal  secrets  of  the  United  Irishmen.  His  per- 
fidy, therefore,  consisted,  not  in  any  betrayal  of  secrets, 
but  in  the  fraud  by  which  he  obtained  them.  Government, 
without  having  yet  penetrated  to  the  very  heart  of  the 
mystery,  had  now  discovered  enough  to  guide  them  in  their 
most  energetic  precautions;  and  the  result  was,  that  the 
conspirators,  whose  policy  had  hitherto  been  to  wait  for  the 
cooperation  of  a  French  army,  now  suddenly  began  to  dis- 
trust that  policy  :  their  fear  was,  that  the  ground  would  be 
cut  from  beneath  their  feet  if  they  waited  any  longer.  More 
was  evidently  risked  by  delay  than  by  dispensing  altogether 
with  foreign  aid.  To  forego  this  aid  was  perilous  ;  to  wait 
for  it  was  ruin.  It  was  resolved,  therefore,  to  commence 
the  insurrection  on  the  23d  of  May  ;  and,  in  order  to  dis- 
tract the  government,  to  commence  it  by  simultaneous  as- 
saults upon  all  the  military  posts  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Dublin.  This  plan  was  discovered,  but  scarcely  in  time  to 
prevent  the  effects  of  a  surprise.  On  the  21st,  late  in  the 
evening,  the  conspiracy  had  been  announced  by  the  lord 
lieutenant's  secretary  to  the  lord  mayor  ;  and,  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  by  a  message  from  his  excellency  to  both 
Houses  of  Parliament. 

The  insurrection,  however,  in  spite  of  this  official  warn- 
ing, began  at  the  appointed  hour.  The  skirmishes  were 
many,  and  in  many  places  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  they 
were  not  favorable  in  their  results  to  the  insurgents.     The 


272  AUTOBiOGUArnic  sketches. 

mail  coaches,  agreeably  to  the  preconcerted  plan,  had  all 
been  intercepted  ;  their  non-arrival  being  every  where  un- 
derstood by  the  conspirators  as  a  silent  signal  that  the  war 
had  commenced.  Yet  this  summons  to  the  more  distant 
provinces,  though  truly  interpreted,  had  not  been  truly 
answered.  The  communication  between  the  capital  and 
the  intei'ior,  ahnost  completely  interrupted  at  first,  had  been 
at  length  fully  restored  ;  and  a  few  days  saw  the  main 
strength  (as  it  was  supposed)  of  the  insurrection  suppressec 
without  much  bloodshed.  But  hush  !  what  is  that  in  the 
rear .? 

Just  at  this  moment,  when  all  the  world  was  disposed  to 
think  the  whole  affair  quietly  composed,  the  flame  burst 
out  with  tenfold  fuiy  in  a  part  of  the  country  from  which 
government,  with  some  reason,  had  turned  away  their  anx- 
ieties and  their  preparations.  This  was  the  county  of  \^'ex- 
ford,  which  the  Earl  of  ]\Iountnorris  had  described  to  the 
government  as  so  entirely  well  affected  to  the  loyal  cause, 
that  he  had  personally  pledged  himself  for  its  good  conduct. 
On  the  night  before  Whitsunday,  however,  May  27,  the 
standard  of  revolt  was  there  raised  by  John  Murphy,  a 
Catholic  priest,  well  known  henceforwards  under  the  title 
of  Father  Murphy. 

The  campaign  opened  inauspiciously  for  the  royalists. 
The  rebels  had  posted  themselves  on  two  eminences  — 
Kilthomas,  about  ten  miles  to  the  westward  of  Gorey  ;  and 
the  Hill  of  Oulart,  half  way  (i.  e.,  about  a  dozen  miles)  be- 
tween Gorey  and  Wexford.  They  were  attacked  at  each 
point  on  \Miitsunday.  From  the  first  point  they  were 
driven  easily,  and  with  considerable  loss;  but  at  Oulart  the 
issue  was  very  different.  Father  Murphy  commanded  here 
in  person ;  and,  finding  that  his  men  gave  way  in  great 
confusion  before  a  picked  body  of  the  North  Cork  militia, 
under  the  command   of  Colonel   Foote,  he   contrived  to 


FIRST    REBELLION.  273 

persuade  them  that  their  flight  was  leading  them  right  upon 
a  body  of  royal  cavah'y  posted  to  intercept  their  retreat. 
This  fear  effectually  halted  them.  The  insurgents,  through 
a  prejudice  natural  to  inexperience,  had  an  unreasonable 
dread  of  cavalry.  A  second  time,  therefore,  facing  about 
to  retreat  from  this  imaginary  body  of  horse,  they  came 
of  necessity,  and  without  design,  full  upon  their  pursuers, 
whom  unhappily  the  intoxication  of  victory  had  by  this 
time  brought  into  the  most  careless  disarray.  These,  al- 
most to  a  man,  the  rebels  annihilated :  universal  consterna- 
tion followed  amongst  the  royalists ;  Father  Murphy  led 
them  to  Ferns,  and  thence  to  the  attack  of  Enniscorthy. 

Has  the  reader  witnessed,  or  has  he  heard  described,  the 
sudden  burst  —  the  explosion,  one  might  say — by  which  a 
Swedish  winter  passes  into  spring,  and  spring  simultane- 
ously into  summer?  The  icy  sceptre  of  winter  does  not 
there  thaw  and  melt  away  by  just  gradations  ;  it  is  broken, 
it  is  shattered,  in  a  day,  in  an  hour,  and  with  a  violence 
brought  home  to  every  sense.  No  second  type  of  resurrec- 
tion, so  mighty  or  so  affecting,  is  manifested  by  nature  in 
southern  climates.  Such  is  the  headlong  tumult,  such 
"  the  torrent  rapture,"  by  which  life  is  let  loose  amongst 
the  air,  the  earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth.  Ex- 
actly what  this  vernal  resurrection  is  in  manifestations  of 
power  and  life,  by  comparison  with  climates  that  have  no 
winter,  such,  and  marked  with  features  as  distinct,  was 
this  Irish  insurrection,  when  suddenly  surrendered  to  the 
whole  contagion  of  politico-religious  fanaticism,  by  com- 
parison with  vulgar  inartinet  strategics  and  the  pedantry 
of  technical  warfare.  What  a  picture  must  Enniscorthy 
have  presented  on  the  27th  of  May  !  Fugitives,  crowding 
in  from  Ferns,  announced  the  rapid  advance  of  the  rebels, 
now,  at  least,  7000  strong,  drunk  with  victory,  and  mad- 
dened with  vindictive  fury.  Not  long  after  midday,  their 
18 


274  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

advanced  guard,  well  armed  with  muskets,  (pillaged,  be  il 
observed,  from  royal  magazines  hastily  deserted,)  com- 
menced a  tumultuous  assault.  Less  than  300  militia  and 
yeomanry  formed  the  garrison  of  the  place,  which  had  no 
sort  of  defences  except  the  natural  one  of  the  River  Slaney. 
This,  however,  was  fordable,  and  that  the  assailants  knew. 
The  slaughter  amongst  the  rebels,  meantime,  from  the  little 
caution  they  exhibited,  and  their  total  defect  of  military 
skill,  was  murderous.  Spite  of  their  immense  numerical 
advantages,  it  is  probable  they  would  have  been  defeated. 
But  in  Enniscorthy,  (as  where  not?)  treason  from  within 
was  emboldened  to  raise  its  crest  at  the  very  crisis  of  sus- 
pense ;  incendiaries  were  at  work ;  and  flames  began  to 
issue  from  many  houses  at  once.  Retreat  itself  became 
suddenly  doubtful,  depending,  as  it  did,  altogether  upon 
the  state  of  the  wind.  At  the  right  hand  of  every  royalist 
stood  a  traitor ;  in  his  own  house  oftentimes  lurked  other 
traitors,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  begin ;  in  the  front  was 
the  enemy ;  in  the  rear  was  a  line  of  blazing  streets. 
Three  hours  the  battle  had  raged  ;  it  was  now  four,  P.  M., 
and  at  this  moment  the  garrison  hastily  gave  way,  and  fled 
to  Wexford. 

Now  came  a  scene,  which  swallowed  up  all  distinct  or 
separate  features  in  its  frantic  confluence  of  horrors.  All 
the  loj^alists  of  Enniscorthy,  all  the  gentry  for  miles  around, 
who  had  congregated  in  that  town,  as  a  centre  of  security, 
were  summoned  at  that  moment,  not  to  an  orderly  retreat, 
but  to  instant  flight.  At  one  end  of  the  street  were  seen 
the  rebel  pikes,  and  bayonets,  and  fierce  faces,  already 
gleaming  through  the  smoke  ;  at  the  other  end,  volumes  of 
fire,  surging  and  billowing  from  the  thatched  roofs  and 
blazing  rafters,  beginning  to  block  up  the  avenues  of  escape. 
Then  began  the  agony  and  uttermost  conflict  of  what  is 
worst  and  what  is. best  in  human  nature.     Then  was  to  be 


FIRST    REBELLION.  275 

seen  the  very  delirium  of  fear,  and  the  very  delirium  of 
vindictive  malice  ;  private  and  ignoble  hatred,  of  ancient 
origin,  shrouding  itself  in  the  mask  of  patriotic  wrath  ;  the 
tiger  glare  of  just  vengeance,  fresh  from  intolerable  wrongs 
and  the  never-to-be-forgotten  ignominy  of  stripes  and  per- 
sonal degradation  ;  panic,  self-palsied  by  its  own  excess  ; 
flight,  eager  or  stealthy,  according  to  the  temper  and  the 
means  ;  volleying  pursuit ;  the  very  frenzy  of  agitation, 
under  every  mode  of  excitement ;  and  here  and  there, 
towering  aloft,  the  desperation  of  maternal  love,  victorious 
and  supreme  above  all  lower  passions.  I  recapitulate  and 
gather  under  general  abstractions  many  an  individual  anec- 
dote, reported  by  those  who  were  on  that  day  present  in 
Enniscorthy  ;  for  at  Ferns,  not  far  off,  and  deeply  interested 
in  all  those  transactions,  T  had  private  friends,  intimate 
participators  in  the  trials  of  that  fierce  hurricane,  and  joint 
suflerers  with  those  who  sutfered  most.  Ladies  were  theti 
seen  in  crowds,  hurrying  on  foot  to  Wexford,  the  nearest 
asylum,  though  fourteen  miles  distant,  many  in  slippers, 
bareheaded,  and  without  any  supporting  arm  ;  for  the 
flight  of  their  defenders,  having  been  determined  by  a 
sudden  angular  movement  of  the  assailants,  coinciding  with 
the  failure  of  their  own  ammunition,  had  left  no  time  for 
warning ;  and  fortunate  it  was  for  the  unhappy  fugitives, 
that  the  confusion  of  burning  streets,  concurring  with  the 
seductions  of  pillage,  drew  aside  so  many  of  the  victors  as 
to  break  tlie  unity  of  a  pursuit  else  hellishly  unrelenting. 

Wexford,  meantime,  was  in  no  condition  to  promise  more 
than  a  momentary  shelter.  Orders  had  been  already  issued 
to  extinguish  all  domestic  fires  throughout  the  town,  and  to 
unroof  all  the  thatched  houses ;  so  great  was  the  jealousy 
of  internal  treason.  From  without,  also,  the  alarm  was 
every  hour  increasing.  On  Tuesday,  the  29th  of  May,  the 
rebel  army  advanced   from  Enniscorthy  to  a  post  called 


276  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Three  Roclcs,  not  much  above  two  miles  from  Wexford. 
Their  strength  was  now  increased  to  at  least  15,000  men 
Never  was  there  a  case  requiring  more  energy  in  the  dis- 
posers of  the  royal  forces  ;  never  one  which  met  with  less, 
even  in  the  most  responsible  quarters.  The  nearest  military 
station  was  the  fort  at  Duncannon,  twenty-three  miles 
distant.  Thither,  on  the  29th,  an  express  had  been  de- 
spatched by  the  mayor  of  Wexford,  reporting  their  situation, 
and  calling  immediate  aid.  General  Fawcct  replied,  that 
he  would  himself  march  that  same  evening  with  the  13th 
regiment,  part  of  the  Meath  militia,  and  sufficient  artillery. 
Relying  upon  these  assurances,  the  small  parties  of  militia 
and  yeomanry  then  in  Wexford  gallantly  threw  themselves 
upon  the  most  trying  services  in  advance.  Some  companies 
of  the  Donegal  militia,  not  mustering  above  200  men, 
marched  immediately  to  a  position  between  the  rebel  camp 
and  Wexford  ;  whilst  others  of  the  North  Cork  militia  and 
the  local  yeomanry,  with  equal  cheerfulness,  undertook  the 
defence  of  that  town.  Meantime,  General  Fawcet  had 
consulted  his  personal  comfort  by  liaUing  for  the  night, 
though  aware  of  the  dreadful  emergency,  at  a  station  sixteen 
miles  short  of  Wexford.  A  small  detachment,  however, 
with  part  of  his  artillery,  he  sent  forward  ;  these  were  the 
next  morning  intercepted  by  the  rclxds  at  Three  Rocks, 
and  massacred  almost  to  a  man.  Two  officers,  who  escaped 
the  slaughter,  carried  the  intelligence  to  the  advanced  post 
of  the  Donegals  ;  but  they,  so  far  from  being  disheartened, 
marched  immediately  against  the  rebel  army,  enormous  as 
was  the  disproportion,  with  the  purpose  of  recapturing  the 
artillery.  A  singular  contrast  this  to  the  conduct  of  General 
Fawcet,  who  retreated  hastily  to  Duncannon  upon  the  first 
intelligence  of  this  disaster.  Such  a  regressive  movement 
was  so  little  anticipated  by  the  gallant  Donegals,  that  they 
continued  to  advance  against  the  enemy,  until  the  precision 


FIRST    KEBELLION.  277 

with  which  the  captured  artillery  was  served  against  them- 
selves, and  the  non-appearance  of  the  promised  aid, 
warned  them  to  retire.  At  Wexford,  they  found  all  ui 
confusion  and  the  hurry  of  retreat.  The  flight,  as  it  n.ay 
be  called,  of  General  Fawcet  was  now  confirmed;  and,  as 
the  local  position  of  Wexford  made  it  indefensible  against 
artillery,  the  whole  body  of  loyalists,  except  those  whom 
insufficient  warning  had  thrown  into  the  rear,  now  fled 
from  the  wrath  of  the  rebels  to  Duncannon.  It  is  a 
shocking  illustration  {if  truly  reported)  of  the  thoughtless 
ferocity  which  characterized  too  many  of  the  Orange  troops, 
that,  along  the  whole  line  of  this  retreat,  they  continued  to 
burn  the  cabins  of  Roman  Catholics,  and  often  to  massacre, 
in  cold  blood,  the  unoffending  inhabitants;  totally  forgetful 
of  the  many  hostages  whom  the  insurgents  now  held  in 
their  power,  and  careless  of  the  dreadful  provocations  which 
they  were  thus  throwing  out  to  the  bloodiest  reprisals. 

Thus  it  was,  and  through  mismanagement  thus  mis- 
chievously alert,  or  through  torpor  thus  unaccountably  base, 
that  actually,  on  the  30th  of  May,  not  having  raised  their 
standard  before  the  26th,  the  rebels  had  already  been  per- 
mitted to  possess  themselves  of  the  county  of  Wexford  in 
its  whole  southern  division  —  Ross  and  Duncannon  only 
excepted  ;  of  which  the  latter  was  not  liable  to  capture  by 
couj)  de  main,  and  the  other  was  saved  by  the  procrastina- 
tion of  the  rebels.  The  northern  division  of  the  county 
was  overrun  pretty  much  in  the  same  hasty  style,  and 
through  the  same  desperate  neglect  in  previous  concert  of 
plans.  Upon  first  turning  their  views  to  the  north,  the  rebels 
had  taken  up  a  position  on  the  Hill  of  Corrigrua,  as  a  station 
from  which  they  could  march  with  advantage  upon  the  town 
of  Gorey,  lying  seven  miles  to  the  northward.  On  the  1st 
of  June,  a  truly  brilliant  affair  had  taken  place  between  a 
mere  handful   of  militia  and  yeomanry  from  this  town  of 


278  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Gorey  and  a  strong  detachment  from  the  rebel  camp. 
Many  persons  at  the  time  regarded  this  as  the  best  fough 
action  in  the  whole  war.  The  two  parties  had  met  about 
two  miles  from  Gorey  ;  and  it  is  pretty  certain  that,  if  the 
yeoman  cava'ry  could  have  been  prevailed  on  to  charge  at 
the  critical  moment,  the  defeat  would  have  been  a  most 
murderous  one  to  the  rebels.  As  it  was,  they  pscaned, 
though  with  considerable  loss  of  honor.  Yet  even  this  they 
were  allowed  to  retrieve  within  a  few  days,  in  a  remarkable 
way,  and  with  circumstances  of  still  greater  scandal  to  the 
military  discretion  in  high  quarters  than  had  attended  the 
movements  of  General  Fawcet  in  the  south. 

On  the  4th  of  June,  a  little  army  of  1500  men,  under 
the  command  of  Major  General  Loftus,  had  assembled  at 
Gorey.  The  plan  was,  to  march  by  two  different  roads 
upon  the  rebel  encampment  at  Corrigrua ;  and  this  plan 
was  adopted.  Meantime,  on  that  same  night,  the  rebel 
army  had  put  themselves  in  motion  for  Gorey  ;  and  of  this 
counter  movement  full  and  timely  information  had  been 
given  by  a  farmer  at  the  royal  head  quarters  ;  but  such 
was  the  obstinate  infatuation,  that  no  officer  of  rank  would 
condescend  to  give  him  a  hearing.  The  consequences  may 
be  imagined.  Colonel  Walpole,  an  Englishman,  full  of 
courage,  but  presumptuously  disdainful  of  the  enemy,  led 
a  division  upon  one  of  the  two  roads,  having  no  scouts,  nor 
taking  any  sort  of  precaution.  Suddenly  he  found  his  line 
of  march  crossed  by  the  enemy  in  great  strength  :  he  re- 
fused to  halt  or  to  retire  ;  was  shot  through  the  head  ;  and 
a  great  part  of  the  advanced  detachment  was  slaughtered 
on  the  spot,  and  his  artillery  captured.  General  Loftus, 
advancing  on  the  parallel  road,  heard  the  firing,  and  de- 
tached the  grenadier  company  of  the  Antrim  militia  to  the 
aid  of  Waloole.  These,  to  the  amount  of  seventy  men, 
were  cut  off  almost  to  a  man  ;  and  when  the  general,  who 


FIRST    REBELLION.  279 

could  not  cross  over  to  tlie  other  road,  through  the  enclo- 
sures, from  the  encumbrance  of  his  artillery,  had  at  length 
reached  the  scene  of  action  by  a  long  circuit,  he  found 
himself  in  the  following  truly  ludicrous  position :  The 
rebels  had  pursued  Colonel  Walpole's  division  to  Gorey, 
and  possessed  themselves  of  that  place  ;  the  general  had 
thus  lost  his  head  quarters,  without  having  seen  the  army 
whom  he  had  suffered  to  slip  past  him  in  the  dark.  He 
marched  back  disconsolately  to  Gorey,  took  a  look  at  the 
rebel  posts  which  now  occupied  the  town  in  strength,  was 
saluted  with  a  few  rounds  from  his  own  cannon,  and  finally 
retreated  out  of  the  county. 

This  movement  of  General  Loftus,  and  the  previous  one 
of  General  Fawcet,  circumstantially  illustrate  the  puerile 
imbecility  with  which  the  royal  cause  was  then  conducted. 
Both  movements  foundered  in  an  hour,  through  surprises, 
against  which  each  had  been  amply  forewarned.  Fortu- 
nately for  the  government,  the  affairs  of  the  rebels  were 
managed  even  worse.  Two  sole  enterprises  were  under- 
taken by  them  after  this,  previously  to  the  closing  battle 
of  Vinegar  Hill;  both  being  of  the  very  utmost  importance 
to  their  intei'csts,  and  both  sure  of  success  if  they  had  been 
pushed  forward  in  time.  The  first  was  the  attack  upon 
Ross,  undertaken  on  the  29th  of  May,  the  day  after  the 
capture  of  Enniscorthy.  Had  that  attack  been  pressed 
forward  without  delay,  there  never  were  two  opinions  as  to 
the  certainty  of  its  success;  and,  having  succeeded,  it 
would  have  laid  open  to  the  rebels  the  important  counties 
of  Waterford  and  Kilkenny.  Being  delayed  until  the  5tlt 
of  June,  the  assault  was  repulsed  with  prodigious  slaughter. 
The  other  was  the  attack  upon  Arklow,  in  the  north.  On 
the  capture  of  Gorey,  on  the  night  of  June  4,  as  the  imme- 
diate consequence  of  Colonel  Walpole's  defeat,  had  the  reb 
els  advanced  upon  Arklow,  they  would   have  found  it  fo 


280  AUTOBIOGKAPHIC    SKiTCHES. 

some  days  totally  undefended  ;  the  whole  garrison  having 
retreated  in  panic,  early  on  June  5,  to  Wicklow,  The  cap- 
ture of  this  important  place  would  have  laid  open  the  whole 
road  to  the  capital ;  would  probably  have  caused  a  rising  in 
that  great  city  ;  and,  in  any  event,  would  have  indefinitely 
prolonged  the  war,  and  multiplied  the  distractions  of  gov- 
ernment. Merely  from  sloth  and  the  spirit  of  procrastina- 
tion, however,  the  rebel  army  halted  at  Gorey  until  the  9th, 
and  then  advanced  wMth  what  seemed  the  overpowering 
force  of  27,000  men.  It  is  a  striking  lesson  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  procrastination,  that,  precisely  on  that  morning  of 
June  9,  the  attempt  had  first  become  hopeless.  Until 
then,  the  place  had  been  positively  emptied  of  all  inhab- 
itants whatsoever.  Exactly  on  the  9th,  the  old  garrison 
had  been  ordered  back  from  Wicklow,  and  reenforced  by 
a  crack  English  regiment,  (the  Durham  Fencibles,)  on 
whom  chiefly  at  this  critical  hour  had  devolved  the 
defence,  which  was  peculiarly  trying,  from  the  vast  num- 
bers of  the  assailants,  but  brilliant,  masterly,  and  perfectly 
successful. 

This  obstinate  and  fiercely-contested  battle  of  Arklow 
was  indeed,  by  general  consent,  the  hinge  on  which  the 
rebellion  turned.  Nearly  30,000  men,  ai-med  every  man 
of  them  with  pikes,  and  5000  with  muskets,  supported 
also  by  some  artillerj^  sufficiently  well  served  to  do  con- 
siderable execution  at  a  most  important  point  in  the  line 
of  defence,  could  not  be  defeated  without  a  very  trying 
struggle.  And  here,  again,  it  is  worthy  of  record,  that 
General  Needham,  who  commancied  on  this  day,  would 
have  followed  the  example  of  Generals  Fawcet  and  Loftus, 
and  have  ordered  a  retreat,  had  he  not  been  determinately 
opposed  by  Colonel  Skerret,  of  the  Durham  regiment. 
Such  was  the  imbecility,  and  the  want  of  moral  courage, 
on  the  part  of  the  military  leaders  ;  for  it  would  be  unjust 


FIRST    REBELLION.  281 

to  impute  any  defect  in  animal  courage  to  the  feeblest  of 
these  leaders.  General  Needhum,  for  example,  exposed 
his  person,  without  reserve,  throughout  the  whole  of  this 
difficult  day.  Any  amount  of  cannon  shot  he  could  face 
cheerfully,  but  not  a  trying  responsibiHty. 

From  the  defeat  of  Arklovv,  the  rebels  gradually  retired, 
between  the  9th  and  the  20th  of  June,  to  their  main  mili- 
tary position  of  Vinegar  Hill,  which  lies  immediately  above 
the  town  of  Enniscorthy,  and  had  fallen  into  their  hands, 
concurrently  with  that  place,  on  the  28th  of  May.  Here 
their  whole  forces,  with  the  exception  of  perhaps  6000, 
who  attacked  General  Moore  (ten  and  a  half  years  later, 
the  Moore  of  Corunna)  when  marching  on  the  26th 
towards  Wexford,  had  been  concentrated  ;  and  to  this 
point,  therefore,  as  a  focus,  had  the  royal  army,  13,000 
strong,  with  a  respectable  artillery,  under  the  supreme 
command  of  General  Lake,  converged  in  four  separate 
divisions,  about  the  19th  and  20th  of  June.  The  great 
blow  was  to  be  struck  on  the  21st ;  and  the  plan  was,  that 
the  royal  forces,  moving  to  the  assault  of  the  rebel  position 
upon  four  lines  at  right  angles  to  each  other,  (as  if,  for 
instance,  from  the  four  cardinal  points  to  the  same  centre,) 
should  surround  their  encampment,  and  shut  up  every 
avenue  to  escape.  On  this  plan,  the  field  of  battle  would 
have  been  one  vast  slaughter  house  ;  for  quarter  was  not 
granted  on  either  side.*     But  the  quadrille,  if  it  were  ever 

*  "  For  quarter  ivas  not  granted  on  either  side."  —  I  repeat,  as  all 
along  and  necessarily  I  have  repeated,  that  which  orally  I  was  told 
at  the  time,  or  which  subsequently  I  have  read  in  published  accounts. 
But  the  reader  is  aware  by  this  time  of  my  steadfast  conviction, 
that  more  easily  might  a  camel  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  than 
a  reporter,  fresh  from  a  campaign  blazing  with  partisanship,  and 
that  partisanship  representing  ancient  and  here.litary  feuds,  could  by 
possibility  cleanse  himself  from  the  virus  of  such  a  prejudice. 


282  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

seriously  concerted,  was  entirely  defeated  by  the  failure  of 
General  Needham,  who  did  not  present 'himself  with  his 
division  unti  nine  o'clock,  a  full  half  hour  after  the  battle 
was  over,  and  thus  earned  the  sobriquet  of  the  late*  Gen- 
eral Needham.  Whether  the  failure  were  really  in  this 
officer,  or  (as  was  alleged  by  his  apologists)  had  been 
already  preconcerted  in  the  inconsistent  orders  issued  to 
him  by  General  Lake,  with  the  covert  intention,  as  many 
believe,  of  mercifully  counteracting  his  own  scheme  of 
wholesale  butchery,  to  this  day  remains  obscure.  The 
effect  of  that  delay,  in  whatever  way  caused,  was  for  once 
such  as  must  win  every  body's  applause.  The  action  had 
commenced  at  seven  o'olock  in  the  morning;  by  half  past 
eight,  the  whole  rebel  army  was  in  flight ;  and,  naturally 
making  for  the  only  point  left  unguarded,  it  escaped  with 
no  great  slaughter  (but  leaving  behind  all  its  artillery,  and 
a  good  deal  of  valuable  plunder)  through  what  was  fa- 
cetiously called  ever  afterwards  Needkani's  Gap.  After 
this  capital  rout  of  Vinegar  Hill,  the  rebel  army  day  by 
day  mouldered  away.  A  large  body,  however,  of  the 
fiercest  and  most  desperate  continued  for  some  time  to 
make  flying  marches  in  all  directions,  according  to  the 
positions  of  the  king's  forces  and  tiie  momentary  favor  of 
accidents.  Once  or  twice  they  were  brought  to  action  by 
Sir  James  Duff"  and  Sir  Charles  Asgill  ;  and,  ludicrously 
enough,  once  more  they  were  suffered  to  escape  by 
the  eternal  delays  of  the  "  late  Needham."  At  length, 
however,  after  many  skirmishfs,  and  all  varieties  of  local 

*  The  same  jest  was  applied  to  IMr.  Pitt's  brother.  "When  first 
lord  of  the  Admiralty,  people  calling  on  him  as  late  as  even  10  or  11, 
p.  M.,  were  told  t  aat  his  lordship  was  riding  in  the  park.  On  this  ac- 
count, partly,  bu'  more  pointedly  with  a  malicious  refeiencc  to  the 
contrast  between  his  languor  and  the  fiery  activity  of  his  father,  the 
first  earl,  he  was   ocularlv  called  tJw  late  D>rd  Chaihain. 


FIRST    REBELLION.  283 

success,  they  finally  dispersed  upon  a  bog  in  the  county 
of  Dublin.  Many  desperadoes,  however  took  up  their 
quarters  for  a  long  time  in  the  dwarf  woods  of  Killaughrim, 
near  Enniscortiiy,  assuming  the  trade  of  marauders,  but 
ludicrously  designating  themselves  the  Babes  in  the  Wood. 
It  is  an  inexplicable  fact,  that  many  deserters  from  the 
militia  regiments,  who  had  behaved  well  throughout  the 
campaign,  and  adhered  faithfully  to  their  colors,  now  re- 
sorted to  this  confederation  of  the  woods  ;  from  which  it 
cost  some  trouble  to  dislodge  them.  Another  party,  in  the 
woods  and  mountains  of  Wicklow,  were  found  still  more 
formidable,  and  continued  to  infest  the  adjacent  country 
through  the  ensuing  winter.  These  were  not  finally  ejected 
from  their  lairs  until  after  one  of  their  chiefs  had  been 
killed  in  a  night  skirmish  by  a  young  man  defending  his 
house,  and  the  other  chief,  weary  of  his  savage  life,  had 
surrendered  himself  to  transportation. 

It  diffused  general  satisfaction  throughout  Ireland,  that, 
on  the  veiy  day  before  the  final  engagement  of  Vinegar 
Hill,  Lord  Cornwallis  made  his  entry  into  Dublin  as  the 
new  lord  lieutenant.  A  proclamation,  issued  early  in 
July,  of  general  amnesty  to  all  who  had  shed  no  blood 
except  on  the  field  of  battle,  notified  to  the  country  the 
new  spirit  of  policy  which  now  distinguished  the  govern- 
ment ;  and,  doubtless,  that  one  merciful  change  worked 
marvel.^  in  healing  the  agitations  of  the  land.  Still  it  was 
thought  necessary  that  severe  justice  should  take  its  course 
amongst  the  most  conspicuous  leaders  or  agents  in  the  in- 
surrection. Martial  law  still  prevailed  ;  and  under  that 
law  we  know,  through  a  speech  of  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton's, how  entirely  the  very  elements  of  justice  are  depend- 
ent upon  individual  folly  or  capricQ.  Many  of  those  who 
had  shown  the  greatest  generosity,  and  with  no  slight  risk 
to  themselves,  were  now  selected    -  suffer.     Bagenal  Har- 


284  AUTOBIOGKAPHIC    SKETCHES- 

vey,  a  Protestant  gentleman,  who  had  held  the  supreme 
command  of  the  rebel  army  for  some  time  with  infinite 
vexation  to  himself,  and  taxed  with  no  one  instance  of 
cruelty  or  excess,  was  one  of  those  doomed  to  execution. 
He  had  possessed  an  estate  of  nearly  three  thousand  per 
annum  ;  and  at  the  same  time  with  him  was  executed  an- 
other gentleman,  of  more  than  three  times  that  estate, 
Coi'nelius  Grogan.  Singular  it  was,  that  men  of  this  con- 
dition and  property,  men  of  feeling  and  refinement,  should 
have  staked  the  happiness  of  their  families  upon  a  contest 
so  forlorn.  Some  there  were,  however,  and  possibly  these 
gentlemen,  who  could  have  explained  their  motives  intelli- 
gibly enough  :  they  had  been  forced  by  persecution,  and 
actually  baited  into  the  ranks  of  the  rebels.  One  pictu- 
resque difference  in  the  deaths  of  these  two  gentlemen  was 
remarkable,  as  contrasted  with  their  previous  habits.  Gro- 
gan was  constitutionally  timid  ;  and  yet  he  faced  the  scaf- 
fold and  the  trying  preparations  of  the  executioner  with 
fortitude.  On  the  other  hand,  Bagenal  Flarvey,  who  had 
fought  several  duels  with  coolness,  exhibited  considerable 
trepidation  in  his  last  moments.  Perhaps,  in  both,  the  dif- 
ference might  be  due  entirely  to  some  physical  accident 
of  health  or  momentary  nervous  derangement.* 

*  Perhaps  also  iiot.  Possibly  enough  there  may  be  no  call  for  any 
Buch  exceptional  solution;  for,  after  all,  there  may  be  nothing  to 
solve  —  no  dignus  vindice  nodus.  As  regards  the  sudden  interchange 
of  characters  on  the  scatfbld,  —  the  constitutionally  brave  man  all  at 
once  becoming  timid,  and  the  timid  man  becoming  brave,  —  it  must  be 
remembered,  that  the  particular  sort  of  courage  applicable  to  duel- 
ling, when  the  danger  is  much  more  of  a  fugitive  and  momentary 
order  than  that  which  invests  a  battle  lasting  for  hours,  depends 
almost  entirely  upon  a  man"s  conjidence  in  his  own  luck  —  a  pecu- 
liarity of  mind  which  exists  altogether  apart  from  native  resources  of 
courage,  whether  moral  or  physical :  usually  this  mot  e  of  courage  is 
but  a  transformed  expression  for  a  sanguine  temperament.     A  man 


FIRST    REBELLION.  285 

Among  the  crowd,  howevei',  of  persons  who  suffered 
death  at  this  disastrous  era,  there  were  two  that  merit  a 
special  commemoration  for  their  virtuous  resistance,  in  dis- 
regard of  all  personal  risk,  to  a  horrid  fanaticism  of  cruelty. 
One  was  a  butcher,  the  other  a  seafaring  man — both  reb- 
els.    But  they  must  have  been  truly  generous,  brave,  and 


who  is  habitually  depressed  by  a  constitutional  taint  of  despondency 
may  carry  into  a  duel  a  sublime  principle  of  calm,  self-sacrificing 
courage,  as  being  possibly  utterly  without  hope  —  a  courage,  there- 
fore, which  has  to  fight  with  internal  resistance,  to  which  there  may 
be  nothing  corresponding  in  a  cheerful  temperament. 

But  there  is  another  and  separate  agency  through  which  the 
fear  of  death  may  happen  to  act  as  a  disturbing  force,  and  most  irreg- 
ularly as  viewed  in  relation  to  moral  courage  and  strength  of  mind. 
This  anomalous  force  is  the  imaginative  and  shadowy  terror  with 
which  different  minds  recoil  from  death  — not  considered  as  an  agony 
or  torment,  but  considered  as  a  mystery,  and,  next  after  God,  as  the 
most  .infinite  of  mysteries.  In  a  brave  man  this  terror  may  happen 
to  be  strong;  in  a  pusillanimous  man,  simply  through  inertness  and 
original  feebleness  of  imagination,  may  happen  to  be  scarcely  devel- 
oped. This  oscillation  of  horror,  alternating  between  death  as  an  agony 
and  death  as  a  mystery,  not  only  exists  with  a  corresponding  set  of  con 
sequences  accordingly  as  one  or  other  prevails,  but  is  sometimes  con- 
sciously contemplated  and  put  into  the  scales  of  comparison  and  coun- 
ter valuation.  For  instance,  one  of  the  early  Caesars  reviewed  the 
case  thus  :  "  Emori  nolo ;  me  esse  mortuum  nihil  cestumo  :  From  death  as 
the  act  and  process  of  dying,  I  revolt ;  but  as  to  death,  viewed  as  a 
permanent  state  or  condition,  I  don't  value  it  at  a  straw."  What  this 
particular  Coesar  detested,  and  viewed  with  burning  malice,  was  death 
tiie  agony  —  death  the  physical  torment.  As  to  death  the  mystery, 
want  of  sensibility  to  the  infinite  and  the  shadowy  had  disarmed  that 
of  its  terrors  for  hi  ii.  Yet,  on  the  contrary,  how  many  are  there 
who  face  the  mere  physical  anguish  of  dying  with  stern  indifference ! 
But  death  the  mystery,  —  death  that,  not  satisfied  with  changing  our 
objective,  may  attack  even  the  roots  of  our  subjective, — there  lies  the 
mute,  ineffable,  voiceless  horror  before  which  all  human  courage  is 
abashed,  even  as  all  human  resistance  becomes  childish  when  measur- 
iuy;  itself  against  gravitation. 


286  AUTOBIOGR/iPHIC    SKETCHES. 

noble-minded  men.  Durir.ji  the  occupation  of  Wexford  by 
the  rebel  army,  they  were  repeatedly  the  sole  opponents, 
at  great  personal  risk,  to  the  general  massacre  then  medi- 
tated by  some  few  Popish  bigots.  And,  finally,  when  all 
resistance  seemed  likely  to  be  unavailing,  they  both  de- 
manded resolutely  from  the  chief  patron  of  this  atrocious 
policy  that  he  should  fight  themselves,  armed  in  whatever 
way  he  might  prefer,  and,  as  they  expressed  it,  "pro\e 
himself  a  man,"  before  he  should  be  at  liberty  to  sport  in 
this  wholesale  way  whh  innocent  blood. 

One  painful  fact  I  will  state  in  taking  leave  of  this  sub- 
iect ;  and  that,  I  believe,  will  be  quite  sufficient  to  sustain 
any  thing  I  have  said  in  disparagement  of  the  government ; 
by  which,  however,  I  mean,  in  justice,  the  local  administra- 
tion of  Ireland.  For,  as  to  the  supreme  government  in 
England,  that  body  must  be  supposed,  at  the  utmost,  to 
have  passively  acquiesced  in  the  recommendations  of  the 
Irish  cabinet,  even  when  it  interfered  so  far.  In  particu- 
lar, the  scourgings  and  flagellations  resorted  to  in  Wexford 
and  Kildare,  &c.,  must  have  been  originally  suggested  by 
minds  familiar  with  the  habits  of  the  Irish  aristocracy  in 
the  treatment  of  dependants.  Candid  Irishmen  will  admit 
that  the  habit  of  kicking,  or  threatening  to  kick,  waiters  in 
cofTee  houses  or  other  menial  dependants,  —  a  habit  which, 
in  England,  would  be  met  instantly  by  defiance  and  men- 
aces of  action  for  assault  and  battery,  —  is  not  yet  altogeth- 
er obsolete  in  Ireland.*  Thirty  years  ago  it  was  still  more 
prevalent,  and  presupposed  that  spirit  and  temper  in  the 
treatment  of  menial  dependants,  out  of  which,  doubtless, 
arose  the  practice  of  judicial  {i.  e.,  tentative)  flagellations. 
Meantime,  that  fact  with  which  I  proposed  to  close  my  rec- 
ollections of  this  great  tumult,  and  which  seems  to  be  a 

*  "  Nof  j/et  altogether  ohsoleteP  —  Written  in  1833. 


FIRST    REBELLION.  287 

sufficient  guaranty  for  the  vQry  severest  reflections  on  the 
spirit  of  the  government,  is  expressed  significantly  in  the 
terms,  used  habitually  by  Roman  Catholic  gentlemen,  in 
prudential  exculpation  of  themselves,  when  threatened  with 
inquiry  for  their  conduct  during  these  times  of  agitation  : 
"  I  thank  my  God  that  no  man  can  charge  me  justly  with 
having  saved  the  life  of  any  Protestant,  or  his  house  from 
pillage,  by  my  intercession  with  the  rebel  chiefs."  How! 
Did  men  boast  of  collusion  with  violence  and  the  spirit  of 
massacre  !  What  did  that  mean  }  It  meant  this  :  Some 
Roman  Catholics  had  pleaded,  and  pleaded  truly,  as  a  rea- 
son for  special  indulgence  to  themselves,  that  any  influence 
which  might  belong  to  them,  on  the  score  of  religion  or  of 
private  friendship,  with  the  rebel  authorities,  had  been  used 
by  them  on  behalf  of  persecuted  Protestants,  either  in  de- 
livering them  altogether,  or  in  softening  their  doom.  But, 
to  the  surprise  of  every  body,  this  plea  was  so  far  from 
being  entertained  favorably  by  the  courts  of  inquiry,  that,  on 
the  contrary,  an  argument  was  built  upon  it,  dangerous  in 
the  last  degree  to  the  pleader.  "  You  admit,  then,"  it  was 
retorted,  "  having  had  this  very  considerable  influence 
upon  the  rebel  councils ;  your  influence  extended  to  the 
saving  of  lives ;  in  that  case  we  must  suppose  you  to  have 
been  known  privately  as  their  friend  and  supporter." 
Thus  to  have  delivered  an  innocent  man  from  murder,  ar- 
gued that  the  deliverer  must  have  been  an  accomplice  of 
the  murderous  party.  Readily  it  may  be  supposed  that 
{(^\v  would  be  disposed  to  urge  such  a  vindication,  when  it 
became  known  in  what  way  it  was  likely  to  operate.  The 
government  itself  had  made  it  perilous  to  profess  human- 
ity ;  and  every  man  henceforward  gloried  publicly  in  his 
callousness  and  insensibility,  as  the  one  best  safeguard  to 
himself  on  a  path  so  closely  beset  with  rocks. 


CHAPTER  X. 

FRENCH  INVASION   OF  IRELAND,  AND    SECOND 
REBELLION. 

The  decisive  battle  of  Vinegar  Hill  took  place  at  mid- 
summer; and  with  that  battle  terminated  the  First  Rebel- 
lion. Two  months  later,  a  French  force,  not  making  fully 
a  thousand  men,  under  the  command  of  General  Humbert, 
landed  on  the  west  coast  of  Ireland,  and  again  roused  the 
Irish  peasantry  to  insurrection.  This  latter  insurrection, 
and  the  invasion  which  aroused  it,  naturally  had  a  peculiar 
interest  for  Lord  Westport  and  myself,  who,  in  our  present 
abode  of  Westport  House,  were  living  in  its  local  centre. 

I,  in  particular,  was  led,  by  hearing  on  every  side  the 
conversation  reverting  to  the  dangers  and  tragic  incidents 
of  the  era,  separated  from  us  by  not  quite  two  years,  to 
make  inquiries  of  every  body  who  had  personally  partici- 
pated in  the  commotions.  Records  there  were  on  every 
side,  and  memorials  even  in  our  bed  rooms,  of  this  French 
visit ;  for,  at  one  time,  they  had  occupied  Westport  House 
in  some  strength.  The  largest  town  in  our  neighboriiood 
was  Castlebar,  distant  about  eleven  Irish  miles.  To  this  it 
was  that  the  French  addressed  their  very  earliest  efforts. 
Advancing  rapidly,  and  with  their  usual  style  of  theatrical 
confidence,  they  had  obtained  at  first  a  degree  of  success 

288 


SECOND    REBELLION.  289 

which  was  almost  surprising  to  their  own  insolent  vanity, 
and  which,  long  afterwards,  became  a  subject  of  bitter 
mortification  to  our  own  arm)^  Had  there  been  at  this 
point  any  energy  at  all  corresponding  to  that  of  the  enemy, 
or  commensurate  to  the  intrinsic  superiority  of  our  own 
troops  in  steadiness,  the  French  would  have  been  compelled 
to  lay  down  their  arms.  The  experience  of  those  days, 
however,  showed  how  deficient  is  the  finest  composition 
of  an  army,  unless  where  its  martial  qualities  have  been 
developed  by  practice  ;  and  how  liable  is  all  courage,  when 
utterly  inexperienced  to  sudden  panics.  This  gasconading 
advance,  which  would  have  foundered  utterly  against  a 
single  battalion  of  the  troops  which  fought  in  1812-13 
amongst  the  Pyrenees,  was  here  for  the  moment  successful. 
The  bishop  of  this  see,  Dr.  Stock,  with  his  whole  house- 
hold, and,  indeed,  his  whole  pastoral  charge,  became,  on 
this  occasion,  prisoners  to  the  enemy.  The  republican 
head  quarters  were  fixed  for  a  time  in  the  episcopal  pal- 
ace ;  and  there  it  was  that  General  Humbert  and  his  staff 
lived  in  familiar  intercourse  vvhh  the  bishop,  who  thus 
became  well  qualified  to  record  (which  he  soon  afterwards 
did  in  an  anonymous  pamphlet)  the  leading  circumstances 
of  the  French  incursion,  and  the  consequent  insurrection  in 
Connaught,  as  well  as  the  most  striking  features  in  the 
character  and  deportment  of  the  republican  ofhcers.  Rid- 
ing over  the  scene  of  these  transactions  daily  for  some 
months,  in  company  with  Dr.  Peter  Browne,  the  Dean  of 
Ferns,  (an  illegitimate  son  of  the  late  Lord  Altamont,  and, 
therefore,  half  brother  to  the  present,)  whose  sacred  charac- 
ter had  not  prevented  him  from  taking  that  military  part 
which  seemed,  in  those  difficult  moments,  a  duty  of  ele- 
mentary patriotism  laid  upon  all  alike,  I  enjoyed  many 
opportunities  for  checking  the  statements  of  the  bishop. 
The  small  body  of  French  troops  which  undertook  this 
19 


290  AUTOBIOGIiArHIC    SKETCHES. 

remote  service  had  been  detached  in  one  half  from  the 
army  of  the  Rhine ;  the  other  half  had  served  under  Napo- 
leon in  his  first  foreign  campaign,  viz.,  the  Italian  campaign 
of  1796,  which  accomplished  the  conquest  of  Northern 
Italy.  Those  from  Germany  showed,  by  their  looks  and 
their  meagre  condition,  how  much  they  had  suffered  ;  and 
some  of  them,  in  describing  their  hardships,  told  their  Irish 
acquaintance  that,  during  the  seige  of  Metz,  which  had 
occurred  in  the  previous  winter  of  1797,  they  had  slept  in 
holes  made  four  feet  below  the  surface  of  the  snow.  One 
officer  declared  solemnly  that  he  had  not  once  undressed, 
further  than  by  taking  off  his  coat,  for  a  period  of  twelve 
months.  The  private  soldiers  had  all  the  essential  qualities 
fitting  them  for  a  difficult  and  trying  service  :  "  intelligence, 
activity,  temperance,  patience  to  a  surprising  degree,  togeth- 
er with  the  cxaclest  discipline."  This  is  the  statement  of 
their  candid  and  upright  enemy.  "  Yet,"  says  the  bishop, 
"  with  all  these  martial  qualities,  if  you  except  the  grena- 
diers, they  had  nothing  to  catch  the  eye.  Their  stature, 
for  the  most  part,  was  low,  their  complexion  pale  and 
yellow,  their  clothes  much  the  worse  for  wear:  to  a  super- 
ficial observer,  they  would  have  appeared  incapable  of 
enduring  any  hardship.  These  were  the  men,  however, 
of  whom  it  was  presently  observed,  that  they  could  be  well 
content  to  live  on  bread  or  potatoes,  to  drink  water,  to 
make  the  stones  of  the  street  their  bed,  and  to  sleep  in 
their  clothes,  with  no  covering  but  the  canopy  of  heaven." 
"  How  vast,"  says  Cicero,  "  is  the  revenue  of  Parsimony  !  " 
and,  by  a  thousand  degrees  more  striking,  how  celestial  is 
the  strength  that  descends  upon  the  feeble  through  Tem- 
perance ! 

It  may  well  be  imagined  in  what  terror  the  families  of 
Killala  heard  of  a  French  invasion,  and  the  necessity  of 
immediately  receiving  a  republican  army.    As  sans  culottes 


SECOND    REBELLION.  291 

these  men,  all  over  Europe,  bad  the  reputation  of  pursuing 
a  ferocious  marauding  policy ;  in  fact,  they  were  held  little 
better  than  sanguinary  brigands.  In  candor,  it  must  be 
admitted  that  their  conduct  at  Killala  belied  tiiese  reports; 
though,  on  the  other  hand,  an  obvious  interest  obliged  them 
to  a  more  pacific  demeanor  in  a  land  which  they  saluted  as 
friendly,  and  designed  to  raise  into  extensive  insurrection. 
The  French  army,  so  much  dreaded,  at  length  arrived. 
The  general  and  his  staff  entered  the  palace  ;  and  the  first 
act  of  one  officer,  on  coming  into  the  dining  room,  was  to 
advance  to  the  sideboard,  sweep  all  the  plate  into  a  basket, 
and  deliver  it  to  the  bishop's  butler,  with  a  charge  to  carry 
it  off  to  a  place  of  security.* 

The  French  officers,  with  the  detachment  left  under  their 
orders  by  the  commander-in-chief,  staid  about  one  month 
at  Killala.  This  period  allowed  opportunities  enough  for 
observing  individual  differences  of  character  and  the  gen- 
eral tone  of  their  manners.  These  opportunities  were  not 
thrown  away  upon  the  bishop  ;  he  noticed  with  a  critical 
eye,  and  he  recorded  on  the  spot,  whatever  fell  within  his 
own  experience.  Had  he,  however,  happened  to  be  a 
political  or  courtier  bishop,  his  record  would,  perhaps, 
have  been  suppressed  ;  and,  at  any  rate,  it  would  have 
been  colored  by  prejudice.     As  it  was,  I  believe  it  to  have 

*  As  this  happened  to  be  tlie  truth,  the  bishop  did  right  to  report 
it.  Othei-\\'ise,  his  lordship  does  not  seem  to  have  had  much  acquaint- 
ance with  the  French  scenical  mode  of  arranging  their  public  acts 
for  purposes  of  effect.  Cynical  people  (like  myself,  when  looking 
back  to  this  anecdote  from  the  year  1833)  were  too  apt  to  remark 
that  this  plate  and  that  basket  were  carefully  numbered ;  that  the 
episcopal  butler  (like  Pharaoh's)  was  liable,  alas!  to  be  hanged  in 
case  the  plate  were  not  forthcoming  on  a  summons  from  head 
quarters;  and  that  the  Killala  "place  of  security"  was  kindly 
strengthened,  under  the  maternal  anxiety  of  the  French  republic,  by 
doubling  the  French  sentries. 


292  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

been  the  honest  testimony  of  an  honest  man  ;  and,  con- 
sidering the  minute  circumstantiality  of  its  delineations,  I 
do  not  believe  that,  throughout  the  revolutionary  war,  any 
one  document  was  made  public  which  throws  so  much 
light  on  the  quality  and  composition  of  the  French  repub- 
lican armies.  On  this  consideration  I  shall  extract  a  few 
passages  from  the  bishop's  personal  sketches. 

The  commander-in-chief  of  the  French  armament  is 
thus  delineated  by  the  bishop  :  — 

"  Humbert,  the  leader  of  this  singular  body  of  men,  was 
himself  as  extraordinary  a  personage  as  any  in  his  army. 
Of  a  good  height  and  shape,  in  the  full  vigor  of  life,  prompt 
to  decide,  quick  in  execution,  apparently  master  of  his  art, 
you  could  not  refuse  him  the  praise  of  a  good  officer,  while 
his  physiognomy  forbade  you  to  like  him  as  a  man.  His 
eye,  which  was  small  and  sleepy,  cast  a  sidelong  glance 
of  insidiousness  and  even  of  cruelty ;  it  was  the  eye  of  a 
cat  preparing  to  spring  upon  her  prey.  His  education  and 
manners  were  indicative  of  a  person  sprung  from  the  lower 
orders  of  society ;  though  he  knew  how  to  assume,  when 
it  was  convenient,  the  deportment  of  a  gentleman.  For 
learning,  he  had  scarcely  enough  to  enable  him  to  write 
his  name.  His  passions  were  furious  ;  and  all  his  be- 
havior seemed  marked  with  the  character  of  roughness  and 
insolence.  A  narrower  observation  of  him,  however,  seemed 
to  discover  that  much  of  this  roughness  was  the  result  of 
art,  being  assumed  with  the  view  of  extorting  by  terror  a 
ready  compliance  with  his  commands.  Of  this  truth  the 
bishop  himself  was  one  of  the  first  who  had  occasion  to  be 
made  sensible." 

The  particular  occasion  here  alluded  to  by  the  bishop 
arose  out  of  the  first  attempts  to  effect  the  disembarkation  of 
the  military  stores  and  equipments  from  the  French  ship- 
ping, as  also  to  forward  them  when  landed.     The  case  was 


SECOND    REBELLION.  293 

one  of  extreme  urgency  ;  and  proportionate  allowance 
must  be  made  for  the  French  general.  Every  moment 
might  bring  the  British  cruisers  insight,  —  two  important 
expeditions  had  already  been  baffled  in  that  vvay,  —  and  the 
absolute  certainty,  known  to  all  parties  alike,  that  delay, 
under  these  circumstances,  was  tantamount  to  ruin  ;  that 
u[)on  a  difference  of  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  this  Avay  or  that, 
might  happen  to  hinge  the  whole  issue  of  the  expedition : 
such  a  consciousness  gave  unavoidably  to  every  demur 
at  this  critical  moment  the  color  of  treachery.  Neither 
boats,  nor  carts,  nor  horses  could  be  obtained  ;  the  owners 
most  imprudently  and  selfishly  retiring  from  that  service. 
Such  being  the  extremity,  the  French  general  made  the 
bishop  responsible  for  the  execution  of  his  orders  ;  but  the 
bishop  had  really  no  means  to  enforce  this  commission, 
and  fixiled.  Upon  that,  General  Humbert  threatened  to 
send  his  lordship,  together  with  his  whole  family,  prisoners 
of  war  to  France,  and  assumed  the  air  of  a  man  violently 
provoked.  Here  came  the  crisis  for  determining  the  bishop's 
weight  amongst  his  immediate  flock,  and  his  hold  upon 
their  affections.  One  great  bishop,  not  far  off,  would,  on 
such  a  trial,  have  been  exultingly  consigned  to  his  fate  : 
that  I  well  know  ;  for  Lord  Westport  and  I,  merely  as  his 
visitors,  were  attacked  in  the  dusk  so  fiercely  with  stones, 
that  we  were  obliged  to  forbear  going  out  unless  in  broad 
daylight.  Luckily  the  Bishop  of  Killala  had  shown  himself 
a  Christian  pastor,  and  now  he  reaped  the  fruits  of  his 
goodness.  The  public  selfishness  gave  way  when  the 
danger  of  the  bishop  was  made  known.  The  boats,  the 
carts,  the  horses  were  now  liberally  brought  in  from  their 
lurking-places  ;  the  artillery  and  stores  were  landed  ;  and 
the  drivers  of  the  carts,  &c.,  were  paid  in  drafts  upon  the 
Irish  Directory,  which  (if  it  vvere  an  aerial  coin)  served  at 
least  to  mark  an   unwillingness    in    the    enemy  to   adopt 


294  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES, 

violent  modes  of  hostility,  and  ultimately  became  available  in 
the  very  character  assigned  to  them  by  the  French  general  ; 
not,  indeed,  as  drafts  upon  the  rebel,  but  as  claims  upon 
the  equity  of  the  English  government. 

The  officer  left  in  command  at  Killala,  when  the  pres- 
ence of  the  commander-in-chief  was  required  elsewhere, 
bore  the  name  of  Charost.  He  was  a  lieutenant  colonel, 
aged  forty-five  years,  the  son  of  a  Parisian  watchmaker. 
Having  been  sent  over  at  an  early  age  to  the  unhappy 
Island  of  St.  Domingo,  with  a  view  to  some  connections 
there  by  which  he  hoped  to  profit,  he  had  been  fortunate 
enough  to  marry  a  young  woman  who  brought  him  a 
plantation  for  her  dowry,  which  was  reputed  to  have  yield- 
ed him  a  revenue  of  ^2000  sterling  per  annum.  But  this, 
of  course,  all  went  to  wreck  in  one  day,  upon  that  mad 
decree  of  the  French  convention  which  proclaimed  liberty, 
without  distinction,  without  restrictions,  and  without  grada- 
tions, to  the  unprepared  and  ferocious  negroes.*  Even  his 
wife  and  daughter  would  have  perished  simultaneously  with 
his  property  but  for  English  protection,  which  delivered 
them  from  the  black  sabre,  and  transferred  them  to  Jamaica. 
There,  however,  though  safe,  they  were,  as  respected  Col- 
onel Charost,  unavoidably  captives  ;  and  "  his  eyes  would 
fill,"  says  the  bishop,  "  when  he  told  the  family  that  he  had 
not  seen  these  dear  relatives  for  six  years  past,  nor  even 
had  tidings  of  them  for  the  last  three  years,"  On  his  re- 
turn to  France,  finding  that  to  have  been  a  watchmaker's 
son  was  no  longer  a  bar  to  the  honors  of  the  military  pro- 
fession, he  had  entered  the  army,  and  had  risen  by  merit  to 


*  I  leave  this  passage  as  it  was  written  orifjinally  undor  an  im- 
pression ttien  universally  current.  But,  from  what  I  have  since  read 
on  this  subject,  I  beg  to  be  considered  as  speaking  very  doubtfully  on 
the  true  causes  of  the  St.  Domingo  disasters. 


SECOND    REBELLION.  295 

the  rank  which  he  now  held.  "  He  had  a  plain,  good  under- 
standing. He  seemed  careless  or  doubtful  of  revealed  re- 
ligion, but  said  that  he  believed  in  God  ;  was  inclined  to 
think  that  there  must  be  a  future  state  ;  and  was  very  sure 
that,  while  he  lived  in  tiiis  world,  it  was  his  duty  to  do  all 
the  good  to  his  fellow-creatures  that  he  could.  Yet  what 
he  did  not  exhibit  in  his  own  conduct  he  appeared  to  respect 
in  others  ;  for  he  took  care  that  no  noise  or  disturbance 
should  be  made  in  the  castle  (i.  e.,  the  bishop's  palace)  on 
Sundays,  while  the  family,  and  many  Protestants  from  the 
town,  were  assembled  in  the  library  at  their  devotions. 

"  Boudet,  the  next  in  command,  was  a  captain  of  foot, 
twenty-eight  years  old.  His  father,  he  said,  was  still  liv- 
ing, though  sixty-seven  years  old  when  he  was  born.  His 
height  was  six  feet  two  inches.  In  person,  complexion,  and 
gravity,  he  was  no  inadequate  representation  of  the  Knight 
of  La  Mancha,  whose  example  he  l"ol lowed  in  a  recital  of 
his  own  prowess  and  wonderful  exploits,  delivered  in  meas- 
ured language  and  an  imposing  seriousness  of  aspect." 
The  bishop  represents  him  as  vain  and  irritable,  but  distin- 
guished by  good  feeling  and  principle.  Another  officer 
was  Ponson,  described  as  five  feet  six  inches  high,  lively 
and  animated  in  excess,  volatile,  noisy,  and  chattering  a 
Voittrance.  "  He  was  hardy,"  says  the  bishop,  "  and  pa- 
tient to  admiration  of  labor  and  want  of  rest."  And  of 
this  last  quality  the  following  wonderful  illustration  is 
given  :  "  A  continued  watching  o?  jive  days  and  nights 
together,  when  the  rebels  were  growing  desperate  for  prey 
and  mischief,  did  not  appear  to  sink  his  spirits  in  the 
smallest  degree.'''' 

Contrasting  with  the  known  rapacity  of  the  French  repub- 
lican army  in  all  its  ranks  the  severest  honesty  of  these 
particular  officers,  vc  must  come  to  the  conclusion,  either 
that    they  had  been    selected   for   their  tried    qualities   of 


*I96  AUTOBIOGKAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

abstinence  and  self-control,  or  else  that  the  perilous  tenure 
of  their  footing  in  Ireland  had  coerced  them  into  forbearance. 
Of  this  same  Ponson,  the  last  described,  the  bishop  declares 
that  "  he  was  strictly  lionest,  and  could  not  bear  the  absence 
of  this  quality  in  others  ;  so  that  his  patience  was  pretty 
well  tried  by  his  Irish  allies."  At  the  same  time,  he  ex- 
pressed his  contempt  for  religion  in  a  way  which  the  bishop 
saw  reason  for  ascribing  to  vanity  —  "  the  miserable  affec- 
tation of  appearing  worse  than  he  really  was."  One  officer 
there  was,  named  True,  whose  brutality  recalled  the  impres- 
sion, so  disadvantageous  to  French  republicanism,  which 
else  had  been  partially  effaced  by  the  manners  and  conduct 
of  his  comrades.  To  him  the  bishop  (and  not  the  bishop 
only,  but  many  of  my  own  informants,  to  whom  True  had 
been  familiarly  known)  ascribes  "  a  front  of  brass,  an 
incessant  fraudful  smile,  manners  altogether  vulgar,  and  in 
his  dress  and  person  a  neglect  of  cleanliness,  even  beyond 
the  affected  negligence  of  republicans." 

True,  however,  happily,  was  not  leader  ;  and  the  prin- 
ciples or  the  policy  of  his  superiors  prevailed.  To  them, 
not  merely  in  their  own  conduct,  but  also  in  their  way  of 
applying  that  influence  which  they  held  over  their  most 
bigoted  allies,  the  Protestants  of  Connaught  were  under 
deep  obligations.  Speaking  merely  as  to  property,  the  hon- 
est bishop  renders  the  following  justice  to  the  enemy  : 
"  And  here  it  would  be  an  act  of  great  injustice  to  the 
excellent  discipline  constantly  maintained  by  these  invaders 
while  they  remained  in  our  town,  not  to  remark,  that,  with 
every  temptation  to  plunder,  which  the  time  and  the  number 
of  valuable  articles  within  their  reach  presented  to  them  in 
the  bishop's  palace,  from  a  sideboard  of  plate  and  glasses, 
a  hall  filled  with  hats,  wdiips,  and  greatcoats,  as  well  of  the 
guests  as  of  the  family,  not  a  single  parti  ular  of  private 
property  was   found  to   have  been  carried  away,  when  the 


SECOND    REBELLION.  297 

owners,  after  the  first  fright,  came  to  look  for  their  effects, 
which  was  not  for  a  day  or  two  after  the  landing."  Even 
in  matters  of  delicacy  the  same  forbearance  was  exhibited  : 
"  Beside  the  entire  use  of  other  apartments,  during  the 
stay  of  the  French  in  Killala,  the  attic  story,  containing  a 
library  and  three  bed  chambers,  continued  sacred  to  the 
bishop  and  his  family.  And  so  scrupulous  was  the  delicacy 
of  the  French  not  to  disturb  the  female  part  of  the  house, 
that  not  one  of  them  was  ever  seen  to  go  higher  than  the 
middle  floor,  except  on  the  evening  of  the  success  at 
Castlebar,  when  two  officers  begged  leave  to  carry  to  the 
family  the  news  of  the  battle  ;  and  seemed  a  little  morti- 
fied that  the  news  was  received  with  an  air  of  dissatis- 
faction." These,  however,  were  not  the  weightiest  in- 
stances of  that  eminent  service  which  the  French  had  it  in 
their  power  to  render  on  this  occasion.  The  royal  army 
behaved  ill  in  every  sense.  Liable  to  continual  panics  in 
the  field,  —  panics  which,  but  for  the  overwhelming  force 
accumulated,  and  the  discretion  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  would 
have  been  fatal  to  the  good  cause,  —  the  royal  forces  erred 
as  unthinkingly,  in  the  abuse  of  any  momentary  triumph. 
Forgetting  that  the  rebels  held  many  hostages  in  their  hands, 
they  once  recommenced  the  old  system  practised  in  Wex- 
ford and  Kildare  —  of  hanging  and  shooting  without  trial, 
and  without  a  thought  of  the  horrible  reprisals  that  might 
be  adopted.  These  reprisals,  but  for  the  fortunate  influence 
of  the  French  commanders,  and  but  for  tieir  great  energy 
in  applying  that  influence  according  to  the  exigencies  of 
time  and  place,  would  have  been  made  :  it  cost  the  whole 
weight  of  the  French  power,  their  influence  was  stretched 
almost  to  breaking,  before  they  could  accomplish  their  pur- 
pose of  neutralizing  the  senseless  cruelty  of  the  royalists, 
and  of  saving  the  trembling  Protestants.  Dreadful  were 
the  anxieties  of  these  moments  ;  and  I  myself  heard  per- 


298  AUT  ^BIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

sons,  at  a  distance  of  nearly  two  years,  declare  that  their 
lives  hung  at  that  time  by  a  thread  ;  and  that,  but  for  the 
hasty  approach  of  the  lord  lieutenant  by  forced  marches, 
that  thread  would  have  snapped.  "  We  heard  with  panic," 
said  they,  "  of  the  madness  which  characterized  the  pro- 
ceedings of  our  soi-disant  friends  ;  and,  for  any  chance  of 
safety,  unavoidably  we  looked  only  to  our  nominal  enemies 
—  the  staff  of  the  French  army." 

One  story  was  still  cirrent,  and  very  frequently  repeated, 
at  the  time  of  my  own  residence  upon  the  scene  of  these 
transactions.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  mention  it,  without 
saying,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  bishop,  whose  discretion 
was  so  much  impeached  by  the  affair,  had  the  candor  to 
blame  himself  most  heavily,  and  always  applauded  the 
rebel  for  the  lesson  he  had  given  him.  The  case  was  this  : 
Day  after  day  the  royal  forces  had  been  accumulating 
upon  military  posts  in  the  neighborhood  of  Killala,  and 
could  be  descried  from  elevated  stations  in  that  town. 
Stories  travelled  simultaneously  to  Killala,  every  hour,  of 
the  atrocities  which  marked  their  advance  ;  many,  doubt- 
less, being  fictions,  either  of  blind  hatred,  or  of  that  fero- 
cious policy  which  sought  to  make  the  rebels  desperate,  by 
tempting  them  into  the  last  extremities  of  guilt,  but,  un- 
happily, too  much  countenanced  as  to  their  general  outline, 
by  excesses  on  the  royal  part,  already  proved,  and  undeni- 
able. The  ferment  and  the  anxiety  increased  eveiy  hour 
amongst  the  rebel  occupants  of  Killala.  The  French  had 
no  power  to  protect,  beyond  the  moral  one  of  their  influ- 
ence as  allies  ;  and,  in  the  very  crisis  of  this  alarming 
situation,  a  rebel  came  to  the  bishop  with  the  news  that 
the  royal  cavalry  was  at  that  moment  advancing  from 
Sligo,  and  could  be  traced  along  the  country  by  the  line  of 
blazing  houses  which  accompanied  their  march.  The 
bishop  doubted  this,  and  expressed  his  doubt.     "  Come  with 


SECOND    REBELLION.  299 

me,"  said  the  rebel.  It  was  a  matter  of  policy  to  yield, 
and  his  lordship  went.  They  ascended  together  the  Nee- 
dle Tower  Hill,  from  the  summit  of  which  the  bishop  now 
discovered  that  the  fierce  rebel  had  spoken  but  too  truly. 
A  line  of  smoke  and  fire  ran  over  the  country  in  the  rear 
of  a  strong  patrol  detached  from  the  king's  forces.  The 
moment  was  critical  ;  the  rebel's  eye  expressed  the  un- 
settled state  of  his  feelings  ;  and,  at  that  instant,  the  im- 
prudent bishop  utterred  a  sentiment  which,  to  his  dying 
day,  he  could  not  forget.  "  They,"  said  he,  meaning  the 
ruined  houses,  "  are  only  wretched  cabins. "  The  rebel 
mused,  and  for  a  few  moments  seemed  in  self-conflict  —  a 
dreadful  interval  to  the  bishop,  who  became  sensible  of  his 
own  extreme  imprudence  the  very  moment  after  the  words 
had  escaped  him.  However,  the  man  contented  himself 
with  saying,  after  a  pause,  "  A  poor  man's  cabin  is  to  him 
as  dear  as  a  palace."  It  is  probable  that  this  retort  was 
far  from  expressing  the  deep  moral  indignation  at  his  heart, 
though  his  readiness  of  mind  failed  to  furnish  him  with  any 
other  more  stinging  ;  and,  in  such  cases,  all  depends  upor. 
the  first  movement  of  vindictive  feeling  being  broken.  The 
bishop,  however,  did  not  forget  the  lesson  he  had  received  ; 
nor  did  he  fail  to  blame  himself  most  heavily,  not  so  much 
for  his  imprudence  as  for  his  thoughtless  adoption  of  a  lan- 
guage expressing  an  aristocratic  hauteur  that  did  not  be- 
long to  his  real  character.  There  was,  indeed,  at  that 
moment  no  need  that  fresh  fuel  should  be  applied  to  the 
irritation  of  the  rebels  ;  they  had  already  declared  their 
intention  of  plundering  the  town  ;  and,  as  they  added,  "  in 
spite  of  the  French,"  whom  they  now  regarded,  and 
openly  denounced,  as  "  abetters  of  the  Protestants,"  much 
more  than  as  their  own  allies. 

Justice,  however,  must  be  done  to  the  rebels  as  well  as  to 
their  military  associates.     If  they  were  disposed  to  plunder 


300  ATJTOBIOGEAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

they  were  found  generally  to  shrink  from  bloodshed  and 
cruelty,  and  yet  from  no  want  of  energy  or  determination. 
"  The  peasantry  never  appeared  to  want  animal  courage," 
says  the  bishop,  "  for  they  flocked  together  to  meet  danger 
whenever  it  was  expected.  Had  it  pleased  Heaven  to  be 
as  liberal  to  them  of  brains  as  of  hands,  it  is  not  easy  to 
say  to  what  length  of  mischief  they  might  have  proceeded  ; 
but  they  were  all  along  unprovided  with  leaders  of  any 
ability."  This,  I  believe,  was  true;  and  yet  it  would  be 
doing  poor  justice  to  the  Connaught  rebels,  nor  would  it  be 
drawing  the  moral  truly  as  respects  this  aspect  of  the  rebel- 
lion, if  their  abstinence  from  mischief,  in  its  worst  form,  were 
to  be  explained  out  of  this  defect  in  their  leaders.  Nor  is 
it  possible  to  suppose  that  the  bishop's  meaning,  though  his 
words  seem  to  tend  that  way.  For  he  himself  elsewhere 
notices  the  absence  of  all  wanton  bloodshed  as  a  feature  of 
this  Connaught  rebellion  most  honorable  in  itself  to  the 
poor  misguided  rebels,  and  as  distinguishing  it  very  remark- 
ably from  the  greater  insurrection  so  recently  crushed  in 
the  centre  and  the  east.  "  It  is  a  circumstance,"  says  he, 
"  worthy  of  particular  notice,  that,  during  the  whole  time  of 
this  civil  commotion,  not  a  single  drop  of  blood  was  shed  by 
the  Connaught  rebels,  except  in  the  field  of  war.  It  is  true, 
the  example  and  influence  of  the  French  went  a  great  way 
to  prevent  sanguinarv  excesses.  But  it  will  not  be  deemed 
fair  to  ascribe  to  this  cause  alone  the  forbearance  of  which 
we  were  witnesses,  when  it  is  considered  what  a  range  of 
country  lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  rebels  for  several  days  after 
the  French  power  was  known  to  be  at  an  end." 

To  what,  then,  are  we  to  ascribe  the  forbearance  of  the 
Connaught  men,  so  singularly  contrasted  with  the  hideous 
excesses  of  their  brethren  in  the  east  ?  Solely  to  the  differ- 
ent complexion  (so,  at  least,  I  was  told)  of  the  policy  pur- 
sued bv  government.     In  Wexford,  Kildare,  Meath,  Dublin, 


SECOND    REBELLION.  301 

&c.,  it  had  been  judged  advisable  to  adopt,  as  a  sort  of 
precautionary  policy,  not  for  the  punishment,  but  for  the  dis- 
covery of  rebellious  purposes,  measures  of  the  direst  sever- 
ity ;  not  merely  free  quarterings  of  the  soldiery,  with  liberty 
(or  even  an  express  commission)  to  commit  outrages  and 
insults  upon  all  who  were  suspected,  upon  all  who  refused 
to  countenance  such  measures,  upon  all  who  presumed  to 
question  their  justice,  but  even,  under  color  of  martial 
law,  to  inflict  croppings,  and  pitch  cappings,  half  hangings, 
and  the  torture  of  "  picketings ; "  to  say  nothing  of  houses 
burned,  and  farms  laid  waste  —  things  which  were  done  daily, 
and  under  military  orders  ;  the  purpose  avowed  being  either 
vengeance  for  some  known  act  of  insurrection,  or  the  deter- 
mination to  extort  confessions.  Too  often,  however,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  in  such  utter  disorganization  of 
society,  private  malice,  eitlier  personal  or  on  account  of  old 
family  feuds,  was  the  true  principle  at  work.  And  many 
were  thus  driven,  by  mere  frenzy  of  just  indignation,  or, 
perhaps,  bv  mere  desperation,  into  acts  of  rebellion  which 
else  thev  had  not  meditated.  Now,  in  CJonnaught,  at  this 
time,  the  same  barbarous  policy  was  no  longer  pursued ; 
and  then  it  was  seen,  that,  unless  maddened  by  ill  usage, 
the  peasantn.'  were  capable  of  great  self-control.  There 
was  no  repetition  of  the  Enuiscorthy  massacres  ;  and  it  Wcis 
impossible  to  explain  honestly  why  there  was  none,  without, 
at  the  same  time,  reflecting  back  upon  that  atrocity  some 
color  of  palliation. 

These  things  considered,  it  must  be  granted  thai  there 
was  a  spirit  of  unjustifiable  violence  in  the  royal  army  on 
achieving  their  triumph.  It  is  shocking,  however,  to  observe 
the  effect  of  panic  to  irritate  the  instincts  of  cruelty  and 
sanguinary  violence,  even  in  the  gentlest  minds.  I  remem- 
ber well,  on  occasion  of  the  memorable  tumults  in  Bristol, 
(ant  smn  of  1831,)  that  I,  for  my  part,  could  not  read,  with- 


302  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

out  horror  and  indignation,  one  statement,  (made,  I  believe 
officially  at  that  time,)  which  yet  won  the  cordial  approba- 
tion of  some  ladies  who  had  participated  in  the  panic.  I 
allude  to  that  part  of  the  report  which  represents  several  of 
the  dragoons  as  having  dismounted,  resigned  the  care  of 
their  horses  to  persons  in  the  street,  and  pursued  the  unhappy 
fugitives,  criminals,  undoubtedly,  but  no  longer  dangerous, 
up  stairs  and  down  stairs,  to  the  last  nook  of  their  retreat. 
The  worst  criminals  could  not  be  known  and  identified  as 
such  ;  and  even  in  a  case  where  they  could,  vengeance  so 
hellish  and  so  unrelenting  was  not  justified  by  houses  burned 
or  by  momentary  panics  raised.  Scenes  of  the  same  de- 
scription were  beheld  upon  the  first  triumph  of  the  roval 
cause  in  Connaught  ;  and  but  for  Lord  Cornwallis,  equally 
firm  before  his  success  and  moderate  in  its  exercise,  they 
would  have  prevailed  more  extensively.  The  poor  rebels 
were  pursued  with  a  needless  ferocity  on  the  recapture  of 
Killala.  So  hotly,  indeed,  did  some  of  the  conquerors  hang 
upon  the  footsteps  of  the  fugitives,  that  both  rushed  almost 
simultaneously  —  pursuers  and  pursued — into  the  terror- 
stricken  houses  of  Killala  ;  and,  in  some  instances,  the  ball 
meant  for  a  rebel  told  with  mortal  effect  upon  a  royalist. 
Here,  indeed,  as  in  other  cases  of  this  rebellion,  in  candor 
it  should  be  mentioned,  that  the  royal  army  was  composed 
chiefly  of  militia  regiments.  Not  that  militia,  or  regiments 
composed  chiefly  of  men  who  had  but  just  before  volun- 
teered for  the  line,  have  not  often  made  unexceptionable  sol- 
diers ;  but  in  this  case  there  was  no  reasonable  proportion 
of  veterans,  or  men  who  had  seen  any  service.  The  Bishop 
of  Killala  was  assured  by  an  intelligent  officer  of  the  king's 
army  that  the  victors  were  within  a  trifle  of  being  beaten. 
I  was  myself  told  by  a  gentlemen  who  rode  as  a  volunteer 
on  that  day,  that,  to  the  best  of  his  belief,  it  was  merely  a 
mistaken  order  of  the  rebel  chiefs  causing  a  false  application 


SECOND    REBELLION.  303 

of  a  select  reserve  at  a  very  critical  moment,  which  had 
saved  his  own  party  from  a  ruinous  defeat.  It  may  be 
added,  upon  almost  universal  testimony,  that  the  recapture 
of  Killala  was  abused,  not  only  as  respected  the  defeated 
rebels,  but  also  as  respected  the  royalists  of  that  town. 
"  The  regiments  that  came  to  their  assistance,  being  all  mili- 
tia, seemed  to  think  that  they  had  a  right  to  take  the  prop- 
erty they  had  been  the  means  of  preserving,  and  to  use  it  as 
their  own  whenever  they  stood  in  need  of  it.  Their  ra- 
pacity differed  in  rwa  respect  from  that  of  the  rebels,  except 
that  they  seized  upon  things  with  less  of  ceremony  and 
excuse,  and  that  his  majesty's  soldiers  were  incomparably 
superior  to  the  Irish  traitors  in  dexterity  at  stealing.  In 
consequence,  the  town  grew  very  weary  of  their  guests, 
and  were  glad  to  see  them  march  off  to  other  quarters." 

The  military  operations  in  this  brief  campaign  were  dis- 
creditable, in  the  last  degree,  to  the  energy,  to  the  vigilance, 
and  to  the  steadiness  of  the  Orange  army.  Humbert  had 
been  a  leader  against  the  royalists  of  La  Vendee,  as  well 
as  on  the  Rhine  ;  consequently  he  was  an  ambidextrous 
enemy  —  fitted  equally  for  partisan  warfare,  and  for  the 
tactics  of  regular  armies.  Keenly  alive  to  the  necessity, 
under  his  circumstances,  of  vigor  and  despatch,  after  oc- 
cupying Killala  on  the  evening  of  the  22d  August,  (the  day 
of  his  disembarkation,)  where  the  small  garrison  of  50 
men  (yeomen  and  fcncibles)  had  made  a  tolerable  resist- 
ance, and  after  other  trifling  affairs,  he  had,  on  the  26th, 
marched  against  Castlebar  with  about  800  of  his  own  men, 
and  perhaps  1200  to  1500  of  the  rebels.  Here  was  the 
advanced  post  of  the  royal  army.  General  Lake  (the  Lord 
Lake  of  India)  and  Major  General  Hutchinson  (the  Lord 
Hutchinson  of  Egypt)  had  assembled  upon  this  point  a 
respectable  force  ;  some  say  upwards  of  4000,  others  not 
more  than  1100.     The   disgraceful  result  is  well  known: 


304  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

the  French,  marching  all  night  over  mountain  roads,  and 
through  one  pass  which  was  thought  impregnable,  if  it  had 
been  occupied  by  a  battalion  instead  of  a  captain's  guard, 
surprised  Castlebar  on  the  morning  of  the  27th.  Surprised, 
I  say,  for  no  word  short  of  that  can  express  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case.  About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  a 
courier  had  brought  intelligence  of  the  French  advance ; 
but  from  some  unaccountable  obstinacy,  at  head  quarters, 
such  as  had  proved  fatal  more  than  either  once  or  twice  in 
the  Wexford  campaign,  his  news  was  disbelieved  ;  yet,  if 
disbelieved,  why  therefore  neglected  ?  Neglected,  how- 
ever, it  was  ;  and  at  seven,  when  the  news  proved  to  be 
true,  the  royal  army  was  drawn  out  in  hurry  and  confusion 
to  meet  the  enemy.  The  French,  on  their  part,  seeing  our 
strength,  looked  for  no  better  result  to  themselves  than 
summary  surrender;  more  especially  as  our  artillery  was 
well  served,  and  soon  began  to  tell  upon  their  ranks. 
Better  hopes  first  arose,  as  they  afterwards  declared,  upon 
observing  that  many  of  the  troops  fired  in  a  disorderly  way, 
without  waiting  for  the  word  of  command  ;  upon  this  they 
took  new  measures  :  in  a  few  minutes  a  panic  arose  ; 
General  Lake  ordered  a  retreat  ;  and  then,  in  spite  of  all 
that  could  be  done  by  the  indignant  officers,  the  flight  be- 
came irretrievable.  The  troops  reached  Tuam,  thirty  miles 
distant,  on  that  same  day  ;  and  one  small  party  of  mounted 
men  actually  pushed  on  to  Athlone,  which  is  above  sixty 
miles  from  the  field  of  battle.  Fourteen  pieces  of  artillery 
were  lost  on  this  occasion.  However,  it  ought  to  be  men- 
tioned that  some  serious  grounds  appeared  afterwards  for 
suspecting  treachery  ;  most  of  those  who  had  been  reported 
"  missing  "  having  been  afterwards  observed  in  the  ranks 
of  the  enemy,  where  it  is  remarkable  enough  (or  perhaps 
not  so  remarkable,  as  simply  implying  how  little  they 
were  trusted  by  their  new  allies,  and  for  that  reason  how 


SECOND    KEBELLIOlSr,  305 

naturally  they  were  put  forward  on  the  most  dangerous  ser- 
vices) that  these  deserters  perished  to  a  man.  Meantime, 
the  new  lord  lieutenant,  having  his  foot  constantly  in  the 
stirrup,  marched  from  Dublin  without  a  moment's  delay. 
By  means  of  the  grand  canal,  he  made  a  forced  march  of 
fifty-six  English  miles  in  two  days  ;  which  brought  him 
to  Kilbeggan  on  the  27th.  Very  early  on  the  following 
morning,  he  received  the  unpleasant  news  from  Castlebar. 
Upon  this  he  advanced  to  Athlone,  meeting  every  indica- 
tion of  a  routed  and  panic-struck  army.  Lord  Lake  was 
retreating  upon  that  town,  and  thought  himself  (it  is  said) 
so  little  secure,  even  at  this  distance  from  the  enemy,  that 
the  road  from  Tuam  was  covered  with  strong  patrols.  On 
the  other  hand,  in  ludicrous  contrast  to  these  demonstrations 
of  alarm,  (stipposing  them  to  be  related  without  exaggera- 
tion,) the  French  had  never  stirred  from  Castlebar.  On 
the  4th  of  September,  Lord  Cornwallis  was  within  fourteen 
miles  of  that  place.  Humbert,  however,  had  previously 
dislodged  towards  the  county  of  Longford.  His  motive 
for  this  movement  was  to  cooperate  with  an  insurrection 
in  that  quarter,  which  had  just  then  broken  out  in  strength. 
He  was  now,  however,  hemmed  in  by  a  large  army  of  per- 
haps 25,000  men,  advancing  from  all  points ;  and  a  few 
moves  were  all  that  remained  of  the  game,  played  with 
whatever  skill.  Colonel  Vereker,  with  about  300  of  the 
Limerick  militia,  first  came  up  with  him,  and  skirmished 
very  creditably  (September  6)  with  part,  or  (as  the  colonel 
always  maintained)  with  the  whole  of  the  French  arm  v. 
Other  atfairs  of  trival  importance  followed  ;  and  at  lengtli, 
on  the  8th  of  September,  General  Humbert  surrendered  with 
his  whole  army,  now  reduced  to  844  men,  of  whom  96 
were  officers ;  having  lost  since  their  landing  at  Killala 
exactly  288  men.  The  rebels  were,  not  admitted  to  any 
terms  ;  they  were  pursued  and  cut  down  without  mercy. 
20 


303  AUTOBIOGEiiFHIC    SKETCHES. 

However,  it  is  pleasant  to  know,  that,  from  their  agility  in 
escaping,  this  cruel  policy  was  defeated  :  not  much  above 
500  perished  ;  and  thus  were  secured  to  the  royal  party  the 
worst  results  of  vengeance  the  fiercest,  and  of  clemency 
the  most  ui^.distinguishing,  without  any  one  advantage  of 
either.  Some  districts,  as  Laggan  and  Eris,  were  treated 
with  martial  rigor;  the  cabins  being  burned,  and  their 
unhappy  tenants  driven  out  into  the  mountains  for  the  win- 
ter. Rigor,  therefore,  there  was ;  for  the  most  humane 
politicians,  erroneously,  as  one  must  believe,  fancied  it  ne- 
cessary for  the  army  to  leave  behind  some  impressions  of 
terror  amongst  the  insurgents.  It  is  certain,  however,  that, 
under  the  counsels  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  the  standards  of 
public  severity  were  very  much  lowered,  as  compared  with 
the  previous  examples  in  Wexford. 

The  tardiness  and  slovenly  execution  of  the  whole  ser 
vice,  meantime,  was  well  illustrated  in  what  follows:  — 

Killala  was  not  delivered  from  rebel  hands  until  the  23d 
of  September,  notwithstanding  the  general  surrender  had 
occurred  on  the  8th  ;  and  then  only  in  consequence  of  an 
express  froin  the  bishop  to  General  Trench,  hastening  his 
march.  The  situation  of  the  Protestants  was  indeed  criti- 
cal. Humbert  had  left  three  French  otTicers  to  protect  the 
place,  but  their  influence  gradually  had  sunk  to  a  shadow. 
And  plans  of  pillage,  with  all  its  attendant  horrors,  were 
daily  debated.  Under  these  circumstances,  the  French 
officers  behaved  honorably  and  courageously.  Yet," 
says  the  bishop,  "  the  poor  commandant  had  no  reason  to 
be  pleased  with  the  treatment  he  had  received  immediately 
after  the  action.  He  had  returned  to  the  castle  for  his 
sabre,  and  advanced  with  it  to  the  gate,  in  order  to  deliver 
it  up  to  some  English  officer,  when  it  was  seized  and 
forced  from  his  hand  by  a  common  soldier  of  Fraser's. 
He  came  in,  got  another  sword,  which   he  surrendered  to 


SECOND    REBELLION.  307 

an  officer,  and  turned  to  reenter  the  hall.  At  this  moment 
a  second  Highlander  burst  through  the  gate,  in  spite  of  the 
sentinel  placed  there  by  the  general,  and  fired  at  the  com- 
mandant with  an  aim  that  was  near  proving  fatal,  for  the 
ball  Dassed  under  his  arm,  piercing  a  very  thick  door  en- 
tire! 7  through,  and  lodging  in  the  jamb.  Had  we  lost  the 
worthy  man  by  such  an  accident,  his  death  would  have 
spoiled  the  whole  relish  of  our  present  enjoyment.  He 
complained,  and  received  an  apology  for  the  soklier''s  be- 
havior from  his  officer.  Leave  was  immediately  granted 
to  the  three  French  officers  (left  behind  by  Humbert  at 
Killala)  to  keep  their  swords,  their  effects,  and  even  their 
bed  chambers  in  the  house." 

\X^  Note  applijing  general! ij  to  this  chapter  on  the  Second  Irish  lie- 
hellion.  —  Already  in  1833,  when  writing  this  10th  chapter,  I  felt  a 
secret  jealously  (intcrmittingly  recurring)  that  possibly  I  might  have 
fallen  under  a  false  bias  at  this  point  of  my  youthful  memorials.  I 
myself  had  seen  reason  to  believe — indeed,  sometimes  I  knew  for  cer- 
tain—  that,  in  the  personalities  of  Irish  politics  from  Grattan  down- 
wards, a  spirit  of  fiery  misrepresentation  prevailed,  which  made  it 
hopeless  to  seek  for  any  thing  resembling  truth.  If  in  any  quarter 
you  found  candor  and  liberality,  that  was  because  no  interest  existed 
in  any  thing  Irish,  and  consequently  no  real  information.  Tind  out 
any  man  that  could  furnish  you  with  information  such  as  presupposed 
an  interest  in  Ireland,  and  inevitably  lie  turned  out  a  bigoted  partisan. 
There  cannot  be  a  stronger  proof  of  this  than  the  ridiculous  libels  and 
literary  caricatures  current  even  in  England,  through  one  whole  gen- 
eration, against  the  late  Lord  Londonderry  —  a  most  able  and  faith- 
ful manager  of  our  English  foreign  interests  in  times  of  unparalleled 
difficulty.  Already  in  the  closing  years  of  the  last  century,  his  Irish 
policy  had  been  inextricably  falsified  :  subsequently,  when  he  came  to 
assume  a  leading  p  irt  in  the  English  Parliament,  the  efforts  to  calum- 
niate him  became  even  more  intense ;  and  it  is  only  within  the  last 
five  years  tliat  a  reaction  of  public  opinion  on  this  subject  has  been 
strong  enough  to  reach  even  those  among  his  enemies  who  were  en- 
lightened men.  Liberal  journals  (such,  e.  jr.,  as  the  "North  British 
RLview")  now  recognize  his  merits.     Naturally  it  was  impossible  that 


308  AUTOBIOGEAPIIIC    SKETCHES. 

the  civil  war  of  1798  in  Ireland,  and  the  persons  conspicuously  con- 
nected with  it,  should  escape  this  general  destiny  of  Irish  politics.  I 
wrote,  therefore,  originally  under  a  jealousy  that  partially  I  might  have 
been  duped.  At  present,  in  reviewing  what  I  had  written  twenty 
years  ago,  I  feel  this  jealousy  much  more  keenly.  I  shrink  from  the 
bishop's  malicious  portraitures  of  our  soldiers,  sometimes  of  their 
officers,  as  composing  a  licentious  army,  without  discipline,  without 
humanity,  without  even  steady  courage.  Has  any  man  a  right  to  ask 
our  toleration  for  pictures  so  romantic  as  these  ?  Duped  perhaps  I 
■was  myself:  and  it  was  natural  that  I  should  be  so  under  the  over- 
whelming influences  oppressing  any  right  that  I  could  have  at  my  ear- 
ly age  to  a  free,  independent  judgment.  But  I  will  not  any  longer 
assist  in  duping  the  reader;  and  I  will  therefore  suggest  to  him  two 
grounds  of  vehement  suspicion  against  all  the  insidious  colorings 
given  to  his  statements  by  the  bishop :  — 

1st.  I  beg  to  remind  the  reader  tliat  this  army  of  ISIayo,  in  1798,  so 
unsteady  and  so  undisciplined,  if  we  believe  the  bishop,  was  in  part 
the  army  of  Egypt  in  the  year  1801  :  how  would  the  bishop  have  an- 
swered that  ? 

2dly.  The  bishop  allows  great  weight  in  treating  any  allegations 
whatever  against  the  English  army  or  the  English  government,  to  the 
moderation,  equity,  and  self-control  claimed  for  the  Irish  peasanty 
as  notorious  elements  in  their  character.  Meantime  he  forgets  this 
doctrine  most  conspicuously  at  times  ;  and  represents  the  safety  of 
the  Protestants  against  pillage,  or  even  against  a  spirit  of  massacre, 
as  entirely  dependent  on  the  influence  of  the  French.  Whether  for 
property  or  life,  it  was  to  the  French  that  the  Irish  Protestants  locked 
for  protection  :  not  I  it  is,  but  the  bishop,  ou  whom  that  representation 
will  be  found  to  rest. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TRAVELLING. 

It  was  la  e  in  October,  or  early  in  November,  that  I 
quitted  Conr_3,ught  with  Lord  Westport ;  and  very  slowly, 
making  mai  y  leisurely  deviations  from  the  direct  route, 
travelled  back  to  Dublin.  Thence,  after  some  little  stay, 
we  recrossed  St.  George's  Channel,  landed  at  Holyhead, 
and  then,  by  exactly  the  same  route  as  we  had  pursued  in 
early  June,  we  posted  through  Bangor,  Conway,  Llanrwst, 
Llangollen,  until  once  again  we  found  ourselves  in  Eng- 
land, and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  making  for  Birmingham. 
But  why  making  for  Birmingham  ?  Simply  because  Bir- 
mingham, under  the  old  dynasty  of  stage  coaches  and  post 
chaises,  was  the  centre  of  our  travelling  system,  and  held 
in  England  something  of  that  rank  which  the  golden  mile- 
stone of  Rome  held  in  the  Italian  peninsula. 

At  Birmingham  it  was  (which  I,  like  myriads  beside, 
had  traversed  a  score  of  times  without  ever  yet  having 
visited  it  as  a  terminus  ad  quern)  that  I  parted  with  my 
friend  Lord  Westport.  His  route  lay  through  Oxford  ; 
and  stopping,  therefore,  no  longer  than  was  necessary  to 
harness  fresh  horses,  —  an  operation,  however,  which  was 
seldom  accomplished  in  less  than  half  an  hour  at  that  era, 
—  he  went  on  directly  to  Stratford.     My  own  destination 

309 


310  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

was  yet  doubtful.  I  had  been  directed,  in  Dublin,  to  in- 
quire at  the  Birmingham  post  office  for  a  letter  which  ' 
would  guide  my  motions.  There,  accordingly,  upon  send- 
ing for  it,  lay  the  expected  letter  from  my  mother ;  from 
which  I  learned  that  my  sister  was  visiting  at  Laxton,  in 
Northamptonshire,  the  seat  of  an  old  friend,  to  which  I 
also  had  an  invitation.  My  route  to  this  lay  through  Stam- 
ford. Thither  I  could  not  go  by  a  stage  coach  until  the 
following  day  ;  and  of  necessity  I  prepared  to  make  the 
most  of  my  present  day  in  gloomy,  noisy,  and,  at  that 
time,  dirty  Birmingham, 

Be  not  offended,  compatriot  of  Birmingham,  that  I  salute 
your  natal  town  with  these  disparaging  epithets.  It  is  not 
my  habit  to  indulge  rash  impulses  of  contempt  towards 
any  man  or  body  of  men,  wheresoever  collected,  far  less 
towards  a  race  of  high-minded  and  most  intelligent  citi- 
zens, such  as  Birmingham  has  exhibited  to  the  admiration 
of  all  Europe.  But  as  to  the  noise  and  the  gloom  which 
I  ascribe  to  you,  those  features  of  your  town  will  illustrate 
what  the  Germans  mean  by  a  one-sided  *  (ein-seitiger) 
judgment.  There  are,  I  can  well  believe,  thousands  to 
whom  Birmingham  is  another  name  for  domestic  peace, 
and  for  a  reasonable  share  of  sunshine.  But  in  my  case, 
who  have  passed  through  Birmingham  a  hundred  times,  it 
always  happened  to  rain,  except  once  ;  and  that  once  the 
Shrewsbury  mail  carried  me  so  rapidly  away,  that  I  had 
not  time  to  examine  the  sunshine,  or  see  whether  it  might 
not  be  some  gilt  Birmiugliam  counterfeit ;  for  you  know, 
men  of  Birmingham,  that  you   can  counterfeit — such  is 


*  It  marks  the  rapidity  witli  which  new  phrases  float  themselves 
into  currency  under  our  present  omnipresence  of  the  press,  that  this 
word,  now  (viz.,  in  1853)  familiarly  used  in  every  newspaper,  then 
(viz.,  in  183-3)  required  a  sort  of  apology  to  warrant  its  introduction. 


TRAVELLING.  311 

your  clevei'ness  —  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  from 
Jove's  thunderbolts  down  to  a  tailor's  bodkin.  Therefore, 
the  gloom  is  to  be  charged  to  my  bad  luck.  Then,  as  to 
the  noise,  never  did  I  sleep  at  that  enormous  Hen  and 
Chickens  *  to  which  usually  my  destiny  brought  me,  but  I 


*  A  well-known  hotel,  and  also  a  coach  inn,  which  we  English  in  those 
days  thought  colossal.  It  was  in  fact,  according  to  the  spirit  of  Dr 
JohnsonV.  witty  reply  to  Miss  Knight,  big  enough  for  an  island.  But 
our  transatlantic  brothers,  dwelling  upon  so  mighty  a  continent,  have 
gradually  enlarged  their  scale  of  inns  as  of  other  objects  into  a  size  of 
commensurate  grandeur.  In  two  separate  New  York  journals,  which, 
by  the  kindness  of  American  friends,  are  at  this  moment  (April  26) 
lying  before  me,  I  read  astounding  illustrations  of  this.  For  instance: 
(I.)  In  "Putnam's  .Monthly"  for  April,  1853,  the  opening  article,  a 
very  amusing  one,  entitled  '■  New  York  daguerreotyped,"  estimates 
the  hotel  population  of  that  vast  city  as  "  not  much  short  of  ten  thou- 
sand ; "  and  one  individual  hotel,  apparently  far  from  being  the  most 
conspicuous,  viz.,  the  Metropolitan,  reputed  to  have  "  more  than  twelve 
miles  of  water  and  gas  pipe,  and  two  hundred  and  fifty  servants," 
oifers  "accommodations  for  one  thousand  guests."  (2.)  Yet  even  this 
Titanic  structure  dwindles  by  comparison  with  The  Mount  Vernon 
Ilutel  at  Cape  May,  N.  J.,  (meant,  I  suppose,  for  New  Jersey,)  which 
advertises  itself  in  the  "  New  York  Herald,"  of  April  12,  185.3,  under 
the  authority  of  Mr.  J.  Taber,  its  aspiring  landlord,  as  offering  accom- 
modations, from  tlic  20th  of  next  June,  to  the  romantic  number  of 
three  thousand  Jive  hundred  guests.  The  Birmingham  Hen  and  Chickens 
undoubtedly  had  slight  pretensions  by  the  side  of  these  behemoths 
and  mammoths.  And  yet,  as  a  street  in  a  veiy  little  town  may  hap- 
pen to  be  quite  as  noisy  as  a  street  in  London,  I  can  testify  that  any 
single  gallery  in  this  Birmingham  hotel,  if  measured  in  importance 
by  the  elements  of  discomfort  which  it  could  develop,  was  entitled  to 
an  American  rating.  But  alas !  Fuit  Ilium ;  I  have  not  seen  tiie 
ruins  of  this  ancient  hotel ;  but  an  instinct  tells  me  that  the  railroad 
has  run  right  through  it ;  that  the  hen  has  ceased  to  lay  golden  eggs, 
and  that  her  chickens  are  dispersed.  (3.)  As  another  illustration,  I 
may  mention  that,  in  the  middle  of  March,  1853, 1  received,  as  a  pres- 
ent from  New  York,  the  following  newspaper.  Each  page  contained 
eleven  columns,  wliereas  our  London  ''Times"  contains  only  six.    It 


312  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    STCETCHES. 

had  reason  to  complain  that  the  discreet  hen  did  not  gather 
her  vagrant  flock  to  roost  at  less  variable  hours.  Till  two 
or  three,  I  was  kept  waking  by  those  who  were  retiring  ; 
and  about  three  commenced  the  morning  functions  of  the 
porter,  or  of  "  boots,"  or  of  "  underboots,"  who  began  their 
rounds  for  collecting  the  several  freights  for  the  Highflyer, 
or  the  Tally-ho,  or  the  Bang-up,  to  all  points  of  the  com- 
pass, and  too  often  (as  must  happen  in  such  immense  es- 
tablishments) blundered  into  my  room  with  that  appalling, 
"Now,  sir,  the  horses  are  coming  out."  So  that  rarely, 
indeed,  have  I  happened  to  sleep  in  Birmingham.  But  the 
dirt !  —  that  sticks  a  little  with  you,  friend  of  Birmingham. 
How  do  I  explain  away  that  ?  Know,  then,  reader,  that 
at  the  time  I  speak  of,  and  in  the  way  I  speak  of,  viz.,  in 
streets  and  inns,  all  England  was  dirty. 

Being  left  therefore  alone  for  the  whole  of  a  rainy  day 
in  Birmingham,  and  Birmingham  being  as  yet  the  centre 
of  our  travelling  system,  I  cannot  do  better  than  spend  my 
Birmingham  day  in  reviewing  the  most  lively  of  its  remi- 
niscences. 

The  revolution  in  the  whole  apparatus,  means,  machinery, 

was  cntitlerl  "  The  New  York  Joumiil  of  Commerce,"  .ind  was  able  to 
proclaim  itself  with  truth  the  larpest  journal  in  the  world.  For  2.5.^ 
years  it  had  existed  in  a  smaller  size,  but  even  in  this  infant  stage  had 
so  far  outrun  all  other  journals  in  size  (measuring,  from  the  first,  816 
square  inches)  as  to  have  earned  the  name  of  "the  blanket  sheet:"  but 
this  thriving  baby  had  continued  to  grow,  until  at  last,  on  March  1, 
1853,  it  came  out  in  a  sheet  "comprising  an  area  of  20.57.^  square 
inches,  or  16f  square  feet."  This  was  the  monster  sent  over  the  At- 
lantic to  myself;  and  I  really  felt  it  as  some  relief  to  my  terror,  when 
I  found  the  editor  protesting  that  the  monster  sliould  not  be  allowed 
to  grow  any  more.  I  presume  that  it  was  meant  to  keep  the  hotels  in 
countenance;  for  a  journal  on  the  old  scale  could  not  expect  to  make 
itself  visible  in  an  edifice  that  offered  accommodations  to  an  army 


TRAVELLING.  313 

and  dependences  of  that  system  —  a  revolution  begun, 
carried  through,  and  perfected  within  the  period  of  my  own 
personal  experience  —  merits  a  word  or  two  of  illustration 
in  the  most  cursory  memoirs  that  profess  any  attention  at 
all  to  the  shifting  scenery  and  moving  forces  of  the  age, 
whether  manifested  in  great  effects  or  in  little.  And  these 
particular  effects,  though  little,  when  regarded  in  their 
separate  details,  are  not  little  in  their  final  amount.  On  the 
contrary,  I  have  always  maintained,  that  under  a  represen- 
tative government,  where  the  great  cities  of  the  empire 
must  naturally  have  the  power,  each  in  its  proportion,  of 
reacting  upon  the  capital  and  the  councils  of  the  nation  in 
so  conspicuous  a  way,  there  is  a  result  waiting  on  the  final 
improvements  of  the  arts  of  travelling,  and  of  transmitting 
intelligence  with  velocity,  such  as  cannot  be  properly  ap- 
preciated in  the  absence  of  all  historical  experience.  Con- 
ceive a  state  of  communication  between  the  centre  and  the 
extremities  of  a  great  people,  kept  up  with  a  uniformity  of 
reciprocation  so  exquisite  as  to  imitate  the  flowing  and 
ebbing  of  the  sea,  or  the  systole  and  diastole  of  the  human 
heart  ;  day  and  night,  waking  and  sleeping,  not  succeeding 
to  each  other  with  more  absolute  certainty  than  the  acts  of 
the  metropolis  and  the  controlling  notice  of  the  provinces, 
whether  in  the  way  of  support  or  of  resistance.  Action 
and  reaction  from  every  point  of  the  compass  being  thus 
perfect  and  instantaneous,  we  should  then  first  begin  to  un- 
derstand, in  a  practical  sense,  what  is  meant  by  the  unity  of 
a  political  body,  and  we  should  approach  to  a  more  ade- 
quate appreciation  of  the  powers  which  are  latent  in  organ- 
ization. For  it  must  be  considered  that  hitherto,  under  the 
most  complex  organization,  and  that  which  has  best  at- 
tained its  purposes,  the  national  will  has  never  been  able  to 
express  itself  upon  one  in  a  thousand  of  the  public  acts, 
simply  because  the  national  voice  was  lost  in  the  distance, 


314  AUTOBIOGRAl'HIC    SKETCHES. 

and  could  not  collect  itself  through  the  time  and  the  space 
rapidly  enough  to  connect  itself  immediately  with  the 
evanescent  measure  of  the  moment.  But,  as  the  system 
of  intercourse  is  gradually  expanding,  these  bars  of  space 
and  time  are  in  the  same  degree  contracting,  until  finally 
we  may  expect  them  altogether  to  vanish  ;  and  then  every 
part  of  the  empire  will  react  upon  the  whole  with  the  power, 
life,  and  effect  of  immediate  conference  amongst  parties 
brought  face  to  face.  Then  first  will  be  seen  a  political 
system  truly  organic  —  i.  e.,  in  which  each  acts  upon  all, 
and  all  react  upon  each ;  and  a  new  earth  will  arise  from 
the  indirect  agency  of  this  merely  physical  revolution. 
Already,  in  this  paragraph,  written  twenty  years  ago,  a 
prefiguring  instinct  spoke  within  me  of  some  great  secret 
yet  to  come  in  the  art  of  distant  communication.  At  pres- 
ent I  am  content  to  regard  the  electric  telegraph  as  the 
oracular  response  to  that  prefiguration.  But  I  still  look  for 
some  higher  and  transcendent  response. 

The  reader  whose  birth  attaches  him  to  this  present  gen- 
eration, having  known  only  macadamized  roads,  cannot 
easily  bring  before  his  imagination  the  antique  and  almost 
aboriginal  state  of  things  which  marked  our  travelling  sys- 
tem down  to  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  nearly 
through  the  first  decennium  of  the  present.  A  very  few 
lines  will  suffice  for  some  broad  notices  of  our  condition,  in 
this  respect,  through  the  last  two  centuries.  In  the  Parlia- 
ment war,  (1642-6,)  it  is  an  interesting  fact,  but  at  the 
same  time  calculated  to  mislead  the  incautious  reader,  that 
some  officers  of  distinction,  on  both  sides,  brought  close 
carriages  to  head  quarters  ;  and  sometimes  they  went  even 
upon  the  field  of  battle  in  these  carriages,  not  mounting  on 
horseback  until  the  preparations  were  beginning  for  some 
important  manoeuvre,  or  for  a  general  movement.  The 
same  thing  had  been  done  throughout  the  Thirty  Years 


TRAVELLING.  315 

war,  both  by  the  Bavarian,  imperial,  and  afterwards  by 
ihe  Swedish  officers  of  rank.  And  it  marks  the  great 
diffi.ision  of  these  luxuries  about  this  era,  that,  on  occasion 
of  the  reinstalment  of  two  princes  of  Mecklenburg^  who 
had  been  violently  dispossessed  by  Wallenstein,  upwards  of 
eighty  coaches  mustered  at  a  short  notice,  partly  from  the 
territorial  nobility,  partly  from  the  camp.  Precisely,  how- 
ever, at  military  head  quarters,  and  on  the  route  of  an 
army,  carriages  of  this  description  were  an  available  and  a 
most  useful  means  of  transport.  Cumbrous  and  unwieldy 
they  were,  as  we  know  by  pictures ;  and  they  could  not 
have  been  otherwise,  for  they  were  built  to  meet  the  roads. 
Carriages  of  our  present  light  and  reedy  (almost,  one  might 
say,  corky)  construction  would,  on  the  roads  of  Germany 
or  of  England,  in  that  age,  have  foundered  within  the  first 
two  hours.  To  our  ancestors,  such  carriages  would  have 
seemed  playthings  for  children.  Cumbrous  as  the  car- 
riages of  that  day  were,  they  could  not  be  more  so  than  artil- 
ery  or  baggage  wagons  :  where  these  could  go,  coaches 
could  go.  So  tliat,  in  the  march  of  an  army,  there  was  a 
perpetual  guaranty  to  those  who  had  coaches  for  the  possi- 
bility of  their  transit.  And  hence,  and  not  because  the 
roads  were  at  all  better  than  they  have  been  generally 
described  in  those  days,  we  are  to  explain  the  fact,  that 
both  in  the  royal  camp,  in  Lord  Manchester's,  and  after- 
wards in  General  Fairfax's  and  Cromwell's,  coaches  were 
an  ordinary  part  of  the  camp  equipage.  The  roads, 
meantime,  were  as  they  have  been  described,  viz.,  ditches, 
morasses,  and  sometimes  channels  for  the  course  of  small 
brooks.  Nor  did  they  improve,  except  for  short  reaches, 
and  under  peculiar  local  advantages,  throughout  that  cen- 
tury. Spite  of  the  roads,  however,  public  carriages  be- 
gan to  pierce  England,  in  various  lines,  from  the  era  of 
1660.     Circumstantial  notices  of  these   may  be  found  in 


316  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Lord  Auckland's  (Sir  Frederic  Eden's)  large  work  on  the 
poor  laws.  That  to  York,  for  example,  (two  hundred 
miles,)  took  a  fortnight  in  the  journey,  or  about  fourteen 
miles  a  day.  But  Chamberlayne,  who  had  a  personal 
knowledge  of  these  public  carriages,  says  enough  to  show 
that,  if  slow,  they  were  cheap  ;  half  a  crown  being  the 
usual  rate  for  fifteen  miles,  (i.  e.,  2d.  a  mile.)  Public  con- 
veyances, multiplying  rapidly,  could  not  but  diffuse  a  gen- 
eral call  for  improved  roads  ;  improved  both  in  dimensions 
and  also  in  the  art  of  construction.  For  it  is  observable, 
that,  so  early  as  Queen  Elizabeth's  days,  England,  the 
most  equestrian  of  nations,  already  presented  to  its  inhab- 
itants a  general  system  of  decent  bridle  roads.  Even  at 
this  day,  it  is  doubtful  whether  any  man,  taking  all  hin- 
derances  into  account,  and  having  laid  no  previous  relays 
of  horses,  could  much  exceed  the  exploit  of  Carey,  (after- 
wards Lord  Monmouth,)  a  younger  son  of  the  first  Lord 
Hunsden,  a  cousin  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Yet  we  must  not 
forget  that  the  particular  road  concerned  in  this  exploit 
was  the  Great  North  Road,  (as  it  is  still  called  by  way  of 
distinction,)  lying  through  Doncaster  and  York,  between 
the  northern  and  southern  capitals  of  the  island.  But 
roads  less  frequented  were  tolerable  as  bridle  roads  ;  whilst 
all  alike,  having  been  originally  laid  down  with  no  view  to 
the  broad  and  ample  coaches,  from  1570  to  1700,  scratched 
the  panels  on  each  side  as  they  crept  along.  Even  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  I  have  known  a  case  in  the  sequestered 
district  of  Egremont,  in  Cumberland,  where  a  post  chaise, 
of  the  common  narrow  dimensions,  was  obliged  to  retrace 
its  route  of  fourteen  miles,  on  coming  to  a  bridge  built  in 
some  remote  age,  when  as  yet  post  chaises  were  neither 
known  nor  anticipated,  and,  unfortunately,  too  narrow  by 
three  or  four  inches.  In  all  the  provinces  of  England 
when  the  soil  was  deep  and  adhesive, a  worse  evil  beset  the 


TRAVELLING.  317 

Stately  equipage.  An  Italian  of  rank,  who  has  left  a  record 
of  his  perilous  adventure,  visited,  or  attempted  to  visit, 
Petworth,  near  London,  (then  a  seat  of  the  Percys,  now  of 
Lord  Egreniont,)  about  the  year  1G85.  I  forget  how  many 
times  he  was  overturned  within  one  particular  stretch  of 
five  miles;  but  I  remember  that  it  was  a  subject  of  grati- 
tude (and,  upon  meditating  a  return  by  the  same  route,  a 
subject  of  pleasing  hope)  to  dwell  upon  the  soft  lying  which 
was  to  be  found  in  that  good-natured  morass.  Yet  this  was, 
doubtless,  a  pet  road,  (sinful  punister !  dream  not  that  I 
glance  at  Petworth,)  and  an  improved  road.  Such  as  this, 
1  have  good  reason  to  think,  were  most  of  the  roads  in 
England,  unless  upon  the  rocky  strata  which  stretch  north- 
wards from  Derbyshire  to  Cumberland  and  Northumberland. 
The  public  carriages  were  the  first  harbingers  of  a  change 
for  the  better;  as  these  grew  and  prospered,  slender  lines 
of  improvement  began  to  vein  and  streak  the  map.  And 
Parliament  began  to  show  their  zeal,  though  not  always  a 
corresponding  knowledge,  by  legislating  backwards  and 
forwards  on  the  breadth  of  wagon  wheel  tires,  &c.  But 
not  until  our  cotton  system  began  to  put  forth  blossoms,  not 
until  our  trade  and  our  steam  engines  began  to  stimulate 
the  coal  mines,  which  in  their  turn  stimulated  them.,d\d  any 
great  energy  apply  itself  to  our  roads.  In  my  childhood, 
standing  with  one  or  two  of  my  brothers  and  sisters  at  the 
front  windows  of  my  mother's  carriage,  I  remember  one 
unvarying  set  of  images  before  us.  The  postilion  (for  so 
were  all  carriages  then  driven)  was  employed,  not  by 
fits  and  starts,  but  always  and  eternally,  in  quartering  *  — 
i.  €.,  in  crossing  from  side  to  side  —  according  to  the  casual- 
ties of  the  ground.     Before  you  stretched  a  wintry  length 

*  Elsewhere  I  have  suggested,  as  the  origin  of  this  term,  the  Frcncli 
word  cartayer,  to  manoeuvre  so  as  to  evade  the  ruts. 


318  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

of  lane,  with  ruts  deep  enough  to  fracture  the  leg  of  a 
horse,  filled  to  the  brim  with  standing  pools  of  rain  water ; 
and  the  collateral  chambers  of  these  ruts  kept  from  be- 
coming confluent  by  thin  ridges,  such  as  the  Romans  called 
lives,  to  maintain  the  footing  upon  which  lircB,  so  as  not  to 
swerve,  (or,  as  the  Romans  would  say,  delirare,)  was  a  trial 
of  some  skill  both  for  the  horses  and  their  postilion.  It 
was,  indeed,  next  to  impossible  for  any  horse,  on  such  a 
narrow  crust  of  separation,  not  to  grow  delirious  in  the 
Roman  metaphor ;  and  the  nervous  anxiety,  which  haunted 
me  when  a  child,  was  much  fed  by  this  very  image  so  often 
before  my  eye,  and  the  sympathy  with  which  I  followed 
the  motion  of  the  docile  creature's  legs.  Go  to  sleep  at 
the  beginning  of  a  stage,  and  the  last  thing  you  saw —  wake 
up,  and  the  first  thing  you  saw  —  was  the  line  of  wintry 
pools,  the  poor  ofT-horse  planting  his  steps  with  care,  and  the 
cautious  postilion  gently  applying  his  spur,  whilst  manoeu- 
vring across  this  system  of  grooves  with  some  sort  of  science 
that  looked  like  a  gypsy's  palmistry ;  so  equally  unintelligible 
to  me  were  his  motions,  in  what  he  sought  and  in  what  he 
avoided. 

Whilst  reverting  to  these  remembrances  of  my  childhood, 
I  may  add,  by  way  of  illustration,  and  at  the  risk  of  gossip- 
ing, which,  after  all,  is  not  the  worst  of  things,  a  brief  notice 
of  my  very  first  journey.  I  might  be  then  seven  years 
old.  A  young  gentleman,  the  son  of  a  wealthy  banker, 
liad  to  return  home  for  the  Christmas  holidays  to  a  town  in 
Lincolnshire,  distant  from  the  public  school  where  he  was 
pursuing  his  education  about  a  hundred  miles.  The  school 
was  in  the  neighborhood  of  Greenhay,  my  father's  house. 
There  were  at  that  time  no  coaches  in  that  direction  ;  now 
(1833)  there  are  many  every  duy.  The  young  gentleman 
advertised  for  a  person  to  share  the  expense  of  a  post 
chaise.     By  accident,  I  had  an  invitation  of  some  standing 


TRAVELLING,  319 

to  the  same  town,  where  I  happened  to  have  some  female 
relatives  of  mature  age,  besides  some  youthful  cousins. 
The  two  travellers  elect  soon  heard  of  each  other,  and 
the  arrangement  was  easily  completed.  It  was  my  ear- 
liest migration  from  the  paternal  roof;  and  the  anxieties 
of  pleasure,  too  tumultuous,  with  some  slight  sense  of 
undefined  fears,  combined  to  agitate  my  childish  feelings. 
I  had  a  vague,  slight  apprehension  of  my  fellow-traveller, 
whom  I  had  never  seen,  and  whom  my  nursery  maid,  when 
dressing  me,  had  described  in  no  very  amiable  colors. 
But  a  good  deal  more  I  thouglit  of  Sherwood  Forest,  (the 
forest  of  Robin  Hood,)  which,  as  I  had  been  told,  we  should 
cross  after  the  night  set  in.  At  six  o'clock  I  descended, 
and  not,  as  usual,  to  the  children's  room,  but,  on  this  spe- 
cial morning  of  my  life,  to  a  room  called  the  break- 
fust  room  ;  where  I  found  a  blazing  fire,  candles  lighted, 
and  the  whole  breakfast  equipage,  as  if  for  my  mother, 
set  out,  to  my  astonishment,  for  no  greater  personage 
than  myself.  The  scene  being  in  England,  and  on  a  De- 
cember morning,  I  need  scarcely  say  that  it  rained :  the 
rain  beat  violently  against  the  windows,  the  wind  raved  ; 
and  an  aged  servant,  who  did  the  honors  of  the  breakfast 
table,  pressed  me  urgently  to  eat.  I  need  not  say  that  I 
had  no  appetite :  the  fulness  of  my  heart,  both  from  busy 
anticipation,  and  fronr»  the  parting  which  was  at  hand,  had 
made  me  incapable  of  any  other  thought  or  attention  but 
such  as  pointed  to  the  coming  journey.  All  circumstances 
in  travelling,  all  scenes  and  situations  of  a  representative 
and  recurring  character,  are  indescribably  affecting,  con- 
nected, as  they  have  been,  in  so  many  myriads  of  minds, 
more  especially  in  a  land  which  is  sending  off  forever  its 
flowers  and  blossoms  to  a  clime  so  remote  as  that  of  India, 
whh  heart-rending  separations,  and  with  farewells  never  to 
be  repeated.     But,  amongst  them  all,  none  cleaves  to  my 


320  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

own  feelings  more  indelibly,  from  having  repeatedly  been 
concerned,  either  as  witness  or  as  a  principal  party  in  its 
little  drama,  than  the  early  breakfast  on  a  wintry  morning 
long  before  the  darkness  has  given  way,  when  the  golden 
blaze  of  the  hearth,  and  the  bright  glitter  of  candles,  with 
female  ministrations  of  gentleness  more  touching  than  on 
common  occasions,  all  conspire  to  rekindle,  as  it  were  for 
a  farewell  gleam,  the  holy  memorials  of  household  affec- 
tions. And  many  have,  doubtless,  had  my  feelings  ;  for,  I 
believe,  kw  readers  will  ever  forget  the  beautiful  manner 
m  which  Mrs.  Inchb'ald  has  treated  such  a  scene  in  winding 
up  the  first  part  of  her  "  Simple  Story,"  and  the  power 
with  which  she  has  invested  it. 

Years,  that  seem  innumerable,  have  passed  since  that 
December  morning  in  my  own  life  to  which  I  am  now 
recurring  ;  and  yet,  even  to  this  moment,  I  recollect  the 
audible  throbbing  of  heart,  the  leap  and  rushing  of  blood, 
which  suddenly  surprised  me  during  a  deep  lull  of  the  wind, 
when  the  aged  attendant  said,  without  hurry  or  agitation, 
but  with  something  of  a  solemn  tone,  "  That  is  the  sound 

of  wheels.     I   hear  the   chaise.     Mr.  H will  be  here 

directly."  The  road  ran,  for  some  distance,  by  a  course 
pretty  nearly  equidistant  from  the  house,  so  that  the  groan- 
ing of  the  wheels  continued  to  catch  the  ear,  as  it  swelled 
upon  the  wind,  for  some  time  without  much  alteration.  At 
length  a  right-angled  turn  brought  the  road  continually  and 
rapidly  nearer  to  the  gates  of  the  grounds,  which  had  pur- 
posely been  thrown  open.  At  this  point,  however,  a  long 
career  of  raving  arose  ;  all  other  sounds  were  lost ;  and, 
for  some  time,  I  began  to  think  we  had  been  mistaken,  when 
suddenly  the  loud  trampling  of  horses'  feet,  as  they  whirled 
up  the  sweep  below  the  windows,  followed  by  a  peal  long 
and  loud  upon  the  bell,  announced,  beyond  question,  the 
summons  for  my  departure.     The  door  being  thrown  open, 


TRAVELLING.  321 

steps  were  heard  loud  and  fast ;  and  in  the  next  moment, 
ushered  by  a  servant,  stalked  forward,  booted  and  fully 
equipped,  my  travelling  companion —  if  such  a  w^ord  can 
at  all  express  the  relation  between  the  arrogant  young 
blood,  just  fresh  from  assuming  the  toga  virilis^  and  a 
modest  child  of  profound  sensibilities,  but  shy  and  reserved 
beyond  even  English  reserve.  The  aged  servant,  with 
apparently  constrained  civility,  presented  my  mother's  com- 
pliments to  him,  with  a  request  that  he  would  take  breakfast 
This  he  hastily  and  rather  peremptorily  declined.  Me, 
however,  he  condescended  to  notice  with  an  approving  nod, 
slightly  inquiring  if  I  were  the  young  gentleman  who  shared 
his  post  chaise.  But,  without  allowing  time  for  an  answer, 
and  striking  his  boot  impatiently  with  a  riding,  whip,  he 
hoped  I  was  ready.  "  Not  until  he  has  gone  up  to  my 
mistress,"  replied  my  old  protectress,  in  a  tone  of  some 
asperity.  Thither  I  ascended.  What  counsels  and  direc- 
tions I  might  happen  to  receive  at  the  maternal  toilet, 
naturally  I  have  forgotten.  The  most  memorable  circum- 
stance to  me  was,  that  I,  who  had  never  till  that  time 
possessed  the  least  or  most  contemptible  coin,  received,  in 
a  network   purse,  six   glittering   guineas,  with   instructions 

to  put  three   immediately  into  Mr.  H 's  hands,  and  the 

others  when  he  should  call  for  them. 

The  rest  of  my  mother's  counsels,  if  deep,  were  not 
long  ;  she,  who  had  always  something  of  a  Roman  firmness, 
shed  more  milk  of  roses,  I  believe,  upon  my  cheeks  than 
tears  ;  and  why  not  ?  What  should  there  be  to  her  corre- 
sponding to  an  ignorant  child's  sense  of  pathos,  in  a  little 
journey  of  about  a  hundred  miles  ?  Outside  her  door,  how- 
ever, there  aw^aited  me  some  silly  creatures,  women  of 
course,  old  and  young,  from  the  nursery  and  the  kitchen, 
who  gave,  and  who  received,  those  fervent  kisses  which 
wait  only  upon  love  without  awe  and  without  disguise. 
21 


322  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

Heavens !  what  rosaries  might  be  strung  for  the  memory 
of  sweet  female  kisses,  given  without  check  or  art,  before 
one  is  of  an  age  to  value  them  !  And  again,  how  sweet 
is  the  touch  of  female  hands  as  they  array  one  for  a 
journey  !  If  any  thing  needs  fastening,  whether  by  pinning, 
tying,  or  any  other  contrivance,  how  perfect  is  one's  confi- 
dence in  female  skill  ;  as  if,  by  mere  virtue  of  her  sex  and 
feminine  instinct,  a  woman  could  not  possibly  fail  to  know 
the  best  and  readiest  way  of  adjusting  every  case  that  could 
arise  in  dress.  Mine  was  hastily  completed  amongst  them  : 
each  had  a  pin  to  draw  from  her  bosom,  in  order  to  put 
something  to  rights  about  my  throat  or  hands  ;  and  a  chorus 
of  "  God  bless  hims ! "  was  arising,  when,  from  below, 
young  Mephistopheles  murmured  an  impatient  groan,  and 
perhaps  the  horses  snorted.  I  found  myself  lifted  into  the 
chaise  ;  counsels  about  the  night  and  the  cold  flowing  in 
upon  me,  to  which  Mephistopheles  listened  with  derision  or 
astonishment.  I  and  he  had  each  our  separate  corner  ;  and, 
except  to  request  that  I  would  draw  up  one  of  the  glasses, 
I  do  not  think  he  condescended  to  address  one  word  to 
me  until  dusk,  when  we  found  ourselves  rattling  into  Ches- 
terfield, having  barely  accomplished  four  stages,  or  forty  or 
forty-two  miles,  in  about  nine  hours.  This,  except  on  the 
Bath  or  great  north  roads,  may  be  taken  as  a  standard 
amount  of  performance,  in  1794,  (the  year  I  am  recording,) 
and  even  ten  years  later.*  In  these  present  hurrying  and 
tumultuous  days,  whether  time  is  really  of  more  value,  I 
cannot  say;  but  all  people  on  the  establishment  of  inns  are 
required  to  suppose  it  of  the  most  awful  value.     Nowadays, 

*  It  appears,  however,  from  the  Life  of  Hume,  by  my  distinguished 
friend  Mr.  Hill  Burton,  that  already,  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century, 
the  historian  accomplished  without  difficulty  six  miles  aa  hour  with 
only  a  pair  of  horses.  But  this  it  should  be  observed,  was  on  the 
great  North  Road. 


TRAVELLING.  323 

(1S33,)  no  sot'ner  have  the  horses  stopped  at  the  gateway 
of  a  posting  house  than  a  summons  is  passed  down  to  the 
stables  ;  and  in  less  than  one  minute,  upon  a  great  road,  the 
horses  next  in  rotation,  always  ready  harnessed  when  expect- 
ing to  come  on  duty,  are  heard  trotting  down  the  yard.  "  Put- 
ting to  "  and  transferring  the  luggage,  (supposing  your  con- 
veyance a  common  post  chaise,)  once  a  work  of  at  least 
thirty  minutes,  is  now  easily  accomplished  in  three.  And 
scarcely  have  you  paid  the  ex-postilion  before  his  successor 
is  mounted  ;  the  hostler  is  standing  ready  with  the  steps  in 
his  hands  to  receive  his  invariable  sixpence  ;  the  door  is 
closed  ;  the  representative  waiter  bows  his  acknowledgment 
for  the  house,  and  you  are  off  at  a  pace  never  less  than  ten 
miles  an  hour ;  the  total  detention  at  each  stage  not  averaging 
above  four  minutes.  Then,  {i.  e.,  at  the  latter  end  of  the 
eighteenth  and  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century,)  half 
an  hour  was  the  minimum  of  time  spent  at  each  change  of 
horses.  Your  arrival  produced  a  great  bustle  of  unloading 
and  unharnessing ;  as  a  matter  of  course,  you  alighted  and 
went  into  the  inn  ;  if  you  sallied  out  to  report  progress,  af- 
ter waiting  twenty  minutes,  no  signs  appeared  of  any  stir 
about  the  stables.  The  most  choleric  person  could  not  much 
expedite  preparations,  which  loitered  not  so  much  from  any 
indolence  in  the  attendants,  as  from  faulty  arrangements  and 
total  defect  of  forecasting.  The  pace  was  such  as  the  roads 
of  that  day  allowed  ;  never  so  much  as  six  miles  an  hour, 
except  upon  a  very  great  road,  and  then  only  by  extra  pay- 
ment to  the  driver.  Yet,  even  under  this  comparatively  mis- 
erable system,  how  superior  was  England,  as  a  land  for  the 
traveller,  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  Sweden  only  excepted  ! 
Bad  as  were  the  roads,  and  defective  as  were  all  the  arrange- 
ments, still  you  had  these  advantages  :  no  town  so  insignifi- 
cant, no  posting  house  so  solitary,  but  that  at  all  seasons, 
except  a  contested  election,  it  could  furnish  horses  without 


324  AUTOBIOGRAPIIIC    SKETCHES. 

delay,  and  without  license  to  distress  the  neighboring  farm- 
ers. On  the  worst  road,  and  on  a  winter's  day,  with  no  more 
than  a  single  pair  of  hoi'ses,  you  generally  made  out  sixty 
miles  ;  even  if  it  were  necessary  to  travel  through  the  night, 
you  could  continue  to  make  way,  although  more  slowly  ;  and 
finally,  if  you  were  of  a  temper  to  brook  delay,  and  did  not  ex- 
act from  all  persons  the  haste  or  energy  of  Hotspurs,  the  whole 
system  in  those  days  was  full  of  respectability  and  luxurious 
ease,  and  well  fitted  to  renew  the  image  of  the  home  you 
had  left,  if  not  in  its  elegances,  yet  in  all  its  substantial 
comforts.  What  cosy  old  parlors  in  those  days  !  low  roofed, 
glowing  with  ample  fires,  and  fenced  from  the  blasts  of 
doors  by  screens,  whose  foldings  wei'e,  or  seemed  to  be,  in- 
finite. What  motherly  landladies !  won,  how  readily,  to 
kindness  the  most  lavish,  by  the  mere  attractions  of  sim- 
plicity and  youthful  innocence,  and  finding  so  much  inter- 
est in  the  bare  circumstance  of  being  a  traveller  at  a  child- 
ish age.  Then  what  bloommg  young  handmaidens  !  how 
different  from  the  knowing  and  worldly  demireps  of  modex'n 
high  roads  !  And  sometimes  gray-headed,  faithful  waiters, 
how  sincere  and  how  attentive,  hj  comparison  with  their 
flippant  successors,  the  eternal  "coming,  sir,  coming,"  of 
our  improved  generation  ! 

Such  an  honest,  old,  butler-looking  servant  waited  on  us 
during  dinner  at  Chesterfield,  carving  for  me,  and  urging 
me  to  eat.  Even  Mephistopheles  found  his  pride  relax 
under  the  influence  of  wine  ;  and  when  loosened  from  this 
restraint,  his  kindness  was  not  deficient.  To  me  he  showed 
it  in  pressing  wine  upon  me,  without  stint  or  measure.  The 
elegances  which  he  had  observed  in  such  parts  of  my 
mother's  establishment  as  could  be  supposed  to  meet  his 
eye  on  so  hasty  a  visit,  had  impressed  him  perhaps  favor- 
ably towards  myself;  and  could  I  have  a  little  altered  my 
age,  or  dismissed  my  excessive  reserve,  I  doubt  not  that  he 


TRAVELLING.  325 

would  have  admitted  me,  in  default  of  a  more  suitable 
comrade,  to  his  entire  confidence  for  the  rest  of  the  road. 
Dinner  finished,  and  myself  at  least,  for  the  first  time  in 
my  childish  life,  somewhat  perhaps  overcharged  with  wine, 
the  bill  was  called  for,  the  waiter  paid  in  the  lavish  style 
of  antique  England,  and  we  heard  our  chaise  drawing  up 
under  the  gateway,  —  the  invariable  custom  of  those  days, 
—  by  which  you  were  spared  the  trouble  of  going  into  the 
street ;  stepping  from  the  hall  of  the  inn  right  into  your 
carriage.  I  had  been  kept  back  for  a  minute  or  so  by  the 
landlady  and  her  attendant  nymphs,  to  be  dressed  and 
kissed  ;  and,  on  seating  myself  in  the  chaise,  which  was 
well  lighted  with  lamps,  I  found  my  lordly  young  principal 
in  conversation  with  the  landlord,  first  upon  the  price  of 
oats,  —  which  youthful  horsemen  always  affect  to  inquire 
after  with  interest,  —  but,  secondly,  upon  a  topic  more  im- 
mediately at  his  heart  —  viz.,  the  reputation  of  the  road. 
At  that  time  of  day,  when  gold  had  not  yet  disappeared 
from  the  circulation,  no  traveller  carried  any  other  sort  of 
money  about  him  ;  and  there  was  consequently  a  rich  en- 
couragement to  highwaymen,  which  vanished  almost  entirely 
with  Mr.  Pitt's  act  of  1797  for  restricting  cash  payments. 
Property  which  could  be  identified  and  traced  was  a  perilous 
sort  of  plunder  ;  and  from  that  time  the  free  trade  of  the 
road  almost  perished  as  a  regular  occupation.  At  this 
period  it  did  certainly  maintain  a  languishing  existence  ; 
here  and  there  it  might  have  a  casual  run  of  success;  and, 
as  these  local  ebbs  and  flows  were  continually  shifting, 
perhaps,  after  all,  the  trade  might  lie  amongst  a  small  num- 
ber of  hands.  Universally,  however,  the  landlords  showed 
some  shrewdness,  or  even  sagacity,  in  qualifying,  according 
to  the  circumstances  of  the  inquirer,  the  sort  of  credit  which 
they  allowed  to  the  exaggerated  ill  fame  of  the  roads. 
Returning  on  this   very  road,  some   months  after,  with  a 


326  AUTOBIOGKAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

timid  female  relative,  who  put  her  questions  with  undis' 
guised  and  distressing  alarm,  the  very  same  people,  one 
and  all,  assured  her  that  the  danger  was  next  to  nothing. 
Not  so  at  present :  rightly  presuming  that  a  haughty  cavalier 
of  eighteen,  flushed  with  wine  and  youthful  blood,  would 
listen  with  disgust  to  a  picture  too  amiable  and  pacific  of 
the  roads  before  him,  Mr.  Spread  Eagle  replied  with  the 
air  of  one  who  knew  more  than  he  altogether  liked  to  tell ; 
and  looking  suspiciously  amongst  the  strange  faces  lit  up  by 
the  light  of  the  carriage  lamps — "  Why,  sir,  there  have 
been  ugly  stories  afloat ;  I  cannot  deny  it ;  and  sometimes, 
you  know,  sir," — winking  sagaciously,  to  which  a  knowint; 
nod  of  assent  was  returned,  —  "  it  may  not  be  quite  safe 
to  tell  all  one  knows.  But  you  can  understand  me.  The 
forest,  you  are  well  aware,  sir,  is  the  forest :  it  never  was 
much  to  be  trusted,  by  all  accounts,  in  my  father's  time, 
and  I  suppose  will  not  be  better  in  mine.  But  you  must 
keep  a  sharp  lookout  ;  and,  Tom,"  speaking  to  the  pos- 
tilion, "  mind,  when  you  pass  the  third  gate,  to  go  pretty 
smartly  by  the  thicket."  Tom  replied  in  a  tone  of  impor- 
tance to  this  professional  appeal.  General  valedictions 
were  exchanged,  the  landlord  bowed,  and  we  moved  off  for 
the  forest.  Mephistopheles  had  his  travelling  case  of  pistols. 
These  he  began  now  to  examine  ;  for  sometimes,  said  he, 
I  have  known  such  a  trick  as  drawing  the  charge  whilst  one 
happened  to  be  taking  a  glass  of  wine.  Wine  had  unlocked 
his  heart,  —  the  prospect  of  the  forest  and  the  advancing 
night  excited  him,  —  and  even  of  such  a  child  as  myself 
he  was  now  disposed  to  make  a  confidant.  "  Did  you 
observe,"  said  he,  "  that  ill-looking  fellow,  as  big  as  a  camel, 
who  stood  on  the  landlord's  left  hand  ?  "  Was  it  the  man, 
I  asked  timidly,  who  seemed  by  his  dress  to  be  a  farmer.? 
"  Farmer,  you  call  him  !  Ah  !  my  young  friend,  that  shows 
your  little  knowledge  of  the  world.     He  is  a  scoundrel, 


TRAVELLING.  327 

the  bloodiest  of  scoundrels.  And  so  I  trust  to  convince 
him  before  many  hours  are  gone  over  our  heads."  Whilst 
saying  this,  he  employed  himself  in  priming  his  pistols; 
then,  after  a  pause,  he  went  on  thus :  "  No,  my  young 
friend,  this  alone  shows  his  base  purposes  —  his  calling 
himself  a  farmer.  Farmer  he  is  not,  but  a  desperate  high- 
wayman, of  which  I  have  full  proof.  I  watched  his 
malicious  glances  whilst  the  landlord  was  talking;  and  I 
could  swear  to  his  traitorous  intentions."  So  speaking,  he 
threw  anxious  glances  on  each  side  as  we  continued  to  ad- 
vance :  we  were  both  somewhat  excited  ;  he  by  the  spirit 
of  adventure,  I  by  sympathy  with  him  —  and  both  by  wine. 
The  wine,  however,  soon  applied  a  remedy  to  its  own 
delusions  ;  six  miles  from  the  town  we  had  left,  both  of  us 
were  in  a  bad  condition  for  resisting  highwaymen  with 
effect  —  being  fast  asleep.  Suddenly  a  most  abrupt  halt 
awoke  us,  —  Mephistopheles  felt  for  his  pistols,  —  the  door 
flew  open,  and  the  lights  of  the  assembled  group  announced 
to  us  that  we  had  reached  Mansfield.  That  night  we  went 
on  to  Newark,  at  which  place  about  forty  miles  of  our 
journey  remained.  This  distance  we  performed,  of  course, 
on  the  following  day,  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  But  it 
serves  strikingly  to  illustrate  the  state  of  roads  in  England, 
whenever  your  affairs  led  you  into  districts  a  little  retired 
from  the  capital  routes  of  the  public  travelling,  that,  for 
one  twenty-mile  stage,  —  viz.,  from  Newark  to  Sleaford, — 
they  refused  to  take  us  forward  with  less  than  four  horses. 
This  was  neither  a  fraud,  as  our  eyes  soon  convinced  us, 
(for  even  four  horses  could  scarcely  extricate  the  chaise 
from  the  deep  sloughs  which  occasionally  seamed  the  road 
through  tracts  of  two  or  three  miles  in  succession,)  nor  was 
it  an  accident  of  the  weather.  In  all  seasons  the  same 
demand  was  enforced,  as  my  female  protectress  found  in 
conducting  me  back  at  a  fine  season  of  the  year,  and  had 


328  AUTOBIOGEAFHIC     SKETCHES, 

always  found  hi  traversing  the  same  route.  The  England 
of  that  date  (1794)  exhibited  many  similar  cases.  At 
present  I  know  of  but  one  stage  in  all  England  where  a 
traveller,  without  regard  to  w^e:ght,  is  called  upon  to  take 
four  horses  ;  and  that  is  at  Ambleside,  in  going  by  the  direct 
road  to  Carlisle.  The  first  stage  to  Patterdale  lies  over  the 
mountain  of  Kirkstone,  and  the  ascent  is  not  only  toilsome, 
(continuing  for  above  three  miles,  with  occasional  inter- 
missions,) but  at  times  is  carried  over  summits  too  steep  for 
a  road  by  all  the  rules  of  engineering,  and  yet  too  little 
frequented  to  offer  any  means  of  repaying  the  cost  of 
smoothing  the  difficulties. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  year  1715  that  the  main  im- 
provement took  place  in  the  English  travelling  system,  so 
far  as  regarded  speed.  It  is,  in  reality,  to  Mr.  Macadam 
that  we  owe  it.  All  the  roads  in  England,  w'ithin  a  few 
years,  were  remodelled,  and  upon  principles  of  Roman 
science.  From  mere  beds  of  torrents  and  systems  of  ruts, 
they  were  raised  universally  to  the  condition  and  appear- 
ance of  gravel  walks  in  private  parks  or  shrubberies. 
The  average  rate  of  velocity  was,  in  consequence,  exactly 
doubled  —  ten  miles  an  hour  being  now  generally  accom- 
plished, instead  of  five.  And  at  the  moment  when  all 
further  improvement  upon  this  system  had  become  hopeless, 
a  new  prospect  was  suddenly  opened  to  us  by  railroads; 
which  again,  considering  how  much  they  have  already  ex- 
ceeded the  maximum  of  possibility,  as  laid  down  by  all 
engineers  during  the  progress  of  the  Manchester  and  Liv- 
erpool line,  may  soon  give  way  to  new  moies  of  locomo- 
tion still  more  astonishing  to  our  preconceptions. 

One  point  of  refinement,  as  regards  the  comfort  of  trav- 
ellers, remains  to  be  mentioned,  in  which  the  improvement 
began  a  good  deal  earlier,  perhaps  by  ten  years,  than  in  the 
construction  of  the  roads.     Luxurious  as  was  the  system 


TRAVELLING.  329 

ot  English  travelling  at  all  periods,  after  the  general  estab- 
lishment of  post  chaises,  it  must  be  granted  that,  in  the 
circumstance  of  cleanliness,  there  was  far  from  being  that 
attention,  or  that  provision  for  the  traveller's  comfort,  which 
might  have  been  anticipated  from  the  general  habits  of  the 
country.  I,  at  all  periods  of  my  life  a  great  traveller,  was 
witness  to  the  first  steps  and  the  whole  struggle  of  this  rev- 
olution, Marechal  Saxe  professed  always  to  look  under 
his  bed,  applying  his  caution  chiefly  to  the  attempts  of  rob- 
bers. Now,  if  at  the  greatest  inns  of  England  you  had, 
in  the  days  I  speak  of,  adopted  this  marechal's  policy  of 
reconnoitring,  what  would  you  have  seen  ?  Beyond  a 
doubt,  you  would  have  seen  what,  upon  all  principles  of 
seniority,  was  entitled  to  your  veneration,  viz.,  a  dense  ac- 
cumulation of  dust  far  older  than  yourself.  A  foreign 
author  made  some  experiments  upon  the  deposition  of  dust, 
and  the  rate  of  its  accumulation,  in  a  room  left  wholly  un- 
disturbed. If  I  recollect,  a  century  would  produce  a  stra- 
tum about  half  an  inch  in  depth.  Upon  this  principle,  I 
conjecture  that  much  dust  which  I  have  seen  in  inns,  dur- 
ing the  first  four  or  five  years  of  the  present  century,  must 
have  belonged  to  the  reign  of  George  II.  It  was,  however, 
upon  travellers  by  coaches  that  the  full  oppression  of  the 
old  vicious  system  operated.  The  elder  Scaliger  mentions, 
as  a  characteristic  of  the  English  in  his  day,  (about  1530,) 
a  horror  of  cold  water;  in  which,  however,  there  must 
have   been  some   mistake.*     Nowhere  could  he    and   his 


*  "  Some  mistal-e."  —  The  mistake  was  possibly  this  :  what  little 
water  for  ablution,  and  what  little  rags  called  towels,  a  foreigner  ever 
sees  at  home  will  at  least  be  always  within  reach,  from  the  continental 
practice  of  using  the  bed  room  for  the  sitting  room.  But  in  England 
our  plentiful  means  of  ablution  are  kept  in  the  background.  Scaliger 
should  have  asked  for  a  bed  room  :  the  surprise  was,  possildy,  not  at 
his  wanting  water,  but  at  his  wanting  it  in  a  dining  room. 


330  AUTOBIOG'i  APHIC  SXETCHES. 

foreign  companions  obtain  the  luxury  of  cold  water  for  wash 
ing  their  hands  either  before  or  after  dinner.  One  day  he 
and  his  party  dined  with  the  lord  chancellor  ;  and  now, 
thought  he,  for  very  shame  they  will  allow  us  some  means 
of  purification.  Not  at  all  ;  the  chancellor  viewed  this 
outlandish  novelty  with  the  same  jealousy  as  others.  How- 
ever, on  the  earnest  petition  of  Scaliger,  he  made  an  order 
that  a  basin  or  other  vessel  of  cold  water  should  be  pro- 
duced. His  household  bowed  to  this  judgment,  and  a  slop 
basin  was  cautiously  introduced.  "  What!  "  said  Scaliger, 
"  only  one,  and  we  so  many  ?  "  Even  that  one  contained 
but  a  teacup  full  of  water:  but  the  great  scholar  soon 
found  that  he  must  be  thankful  for  what  he  had  got.  It 
had  cost  the  whole  strength  of  the  English  chancery  to  pro- 
duce that  single  cup  of  water;  and,  for  that  day,  no 
man  in  his  senses  could  look  for  a  second.  Pretty  much 
the  same  struggle,  and  for  the  same  cheap  reform,  com- 
menced about  the  year  1805-6.  Post-chaise  travellers 
could,  of  course,  have  what  they  liked  ;  and  generally  they 
asked  for  a  bed  room.  It  is  of  coach  travellers  I  speak. 
And  the  particular  innovation  in  question  commenced,  as 
was  natural,  with  the  mail  coach,  which,  from  the  much 
higher  scale  of  its  fares,  commanded  a  much  more  select 
class  of  company.  I  was  a  party  to  the  very  earliest  at- 
tempts at  breaking  ground  in  this  alarming  revolution. 
Well  do  I  remember  the  astonishment  of  some  waiters,  the 
indignation  of  others,  the  sympathetic  uproars  which  spread 
to  the  bar,  to  the  kitchen,  and  even  to  the  stables,  at  the 
first  opening  of  our  extravagant  demands.  Sometimes 
even  the  landlady  thought  the  case  worthy  of  her  interfer- 
ence, and  came  forward  to  remonstrate  with  us  upon  our 
unheard-of  conduct.  But  gradually  we  made  way.  Like 
Scaliger,  at  first  we  got  but  one  basin  amongst  us,  and  that 
Jne  was  brought  into  the  breakfast  room  ;  but  scarcely  had 


TKAVELLING.  331 

two  years  revclved  before  we  began  to  see  four,  and  all 
appurtenances,  arranged  duly  in  correspondence  to  the  num- 
ber of  inside  passengers  by  the  mail  ;  and,  as  outside  trav- 
elling was  continually  gaining  ground  amongst  the  wealth- 
ier classes,  more  comprehensive  arrangements  were  often 
made  ;  though,  even  to  this  day,  so  much  influence  sur- 
vives, from  the  original  aristocratic  principle  upon  which 
public  carriages  were  constructed,  that  on  the  mail  coaches 
there  still  prevails  the  most  scandalous  inattention  to  the 
comfort,  and  even  to  the  security,  of  the  outside  passengers  : 
a  slippeiy  glazed  roof  frequently  makes  the  sitting  a  matter 
of  effort  and  anxiety,  whilst  the  little  iron  side  rail  of  four 
inches  in  height  serves  no  one  purpose  but  that  of  bruising 
the  thigh.  Concurrently  with  these  reforms  in  the  system 
of  personal  cleanliness,  others  were  silently  making  way 
through  all  departments  of  the  household  economy.  Dust, 
from  the  reign  of  George  II.,  became  scarcer  ;  gradually  it 
came  to  bear  an  antiquarian  value  :  basins  lost  their  grim 
appearance,  and  looked  as  clean  as  in  gentlemen's  houses. 
And  at  length  the  whole  system  was  so  thoroughly  ventilated 
and  purified,  that  all  good  inns,  nay,  generally  speaking, 
even  second-rate  inns,  at  this  day,  reflect  the  best  features, 
as  to  cleanliness  and  neatness,  of  well-managed  private 
establishments. 


CHAPTER    XII. 
MY  BROTHER. 

The  reader  who  may  have  accompanied  me  in  these 
wandering  memorials  of  my  own  life  and  casual  experi- 
ences, will  be  aware,  that  in  many  cases  the  neglect  of 
chronological  order  is  not  merely  permitted,  but  is  in  fact 
to  some  degree  inevitable  :  there  are  cases,  for  instance, 
which,  as  a  whole,  connect  themselves  with  my  own  life  at 
so  many  different  eras,  that,  upon  any  chronological  princi- 
ple of  position,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  assign  them 
a  proper  place  ;  backwards  or  forwards  they  must  have 
leaped,  in  whatever  place  they  had  been  introduced  ;  and 
in  their  entire  compass,  from  first  to  last,  never  could  have 
been  represented  as  properly  belonging  to  any  one  present 
time,  whensoever  that  had  been  selected  :  belonging  to 
every  place  alike,  they  would  belong,  according  to  the 
proverb,  to  no  place  at  all  ;  or,  (reversing  that  proverb,) 
belonging  to  no  place  by  preferable  right,  they  would,  in 
fact,  belong  to  every  place,  and  therefore  to  this  place. 

The  incidents  I  am  now  going  to  relate  come  under  this 
rule  ;  for  they  form  part  of  a  story  which  fell  in  with  my 
own  life  at  many  different  points.  It  is  a  story  taken  from 
the  life  of  my  own  brother;  and  I  dwell  on  it  with  the 
more  willingness,  because   it   furnishes  an   indirect  lesson 

332 


MY   BKOTHER.  333 

upon  a  great  principle  of  social  life,  now  and  for  many 
years  back  struggling  for  its  just  supremacy  —  the  principle 
that  all  corporal  punishments  whatsoever,  and  upon  whom- 
soever inflicted,  are  hateful,  and  an  indignity  to  our  common 
nature,  which  (with  or  without  our  consent)  is  enshrined  in 
the  person  of  the  sufferer.  Degrading  Am,  they  degrade 
MS.  I  will  not  here  add  one  word  upon  the  general  thesis, 
but  go  on  to  the  facts  of  this  case  ;  which,  if  all  its  incidents 
could  be  now  recovered,  was  perhaps  as  romantic  as  any 
that  ever  yet  has  tried  the  spirit  of  fortitude  and  patience 
in  a  child.  But  its  moral  interest  depends  upon  this  —  that, 
simply  out  of  one  brutal  chastisement,  arose  naturally  the 
entire  series  of  events  which  so  very  nearly  made  ship- 
wreck of  all  hope  for  one  individual,  and  did  in  fact  poison 
the  tranquillity  of  a  whole  family  for  seven  years. 

My  next  brother,  younger  by  about  four  years  than  my- 
self, (he,  in  fact,  that  caused  so  much  affliction  to  the  Sultan 
Amurath,)  was  a  boy  of  exquisite  and  delicate  beauty  —  del- 
icate, that  is,  in  respect  to  its  feminine  elegance  and  bloom  ; 
for  else  (as  regards  constitution)  he  turned  out  remarkably 
robust.  In  such  excess  did  his  beauty  flourish  during  child- 
hood, that  those  who  remember  him  and  myself  at  the  pub- 
lic school  at  Bath  will  also  remember  the  ludicrous  moles- 
tation in  the  streets  (for  to  him  it  was  molestation)  which  it 
entailed  upon  him  —  ladies  stopping  continually  to  kiss  him. 
On  first  coming  up  to  Bath  from  Greenhay,  my  mother  oc- 
cupied the  very  apartments  on  the  North  Parade  just  quitted 
by  Edmund  Burke,  then  in  a  decaying  condition,  though  he 
did  not  die  (I  believe)  till  1797.  That  state  of  Burke's  health, 
connected  with  the  expectation  of  finding  him  still  there, 
brought  for  some  weeks  crowds  of  inquirers,  many  of  whom 
saw  the  childish  Adonis,  then  scarcely  seven  years  old, 
and  inflicted  upon  him  what  he  viewed  as  the  martyrdom 
of  their  caresses.     Thus  began  a  persecution  which  con- 


334  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

tinued  as  long  as  his  years  allowed  it.  The  most  brilliant 
complexion  that  could  be  imagined,  the  features  of  an  An- 
tinous,  and  perfect  symmetry  of  figure  at  that  period  of  his 
life,  (afterwards  he  lost  it,)  made  him  the  subject  of  never- 
ending  admiration  to  the  whole  female  population,  gentle 
and  simple,  who  passed  him  in  the  streets.  In  after  days, 
he  had  the  grace  to  regret  his  own  perverse  and  scornful 
coyness.  But,  at  that  time,  so  foolishly  insensible  was  he 
to  the  honor,  that  he  used  to  kick  and  struggle  with  all  his 
might  to  liberate  himself  from  the  gentle  violence  which 
was  continually  offered  ;  and  he  renewed  the  scene  (so  elab- 
orately painted  by  Shakspeare)  of  the  conflicts  between 
Venus  and  Adonis.  For  two  years  this  continued  a  subject 
of  irritation  the  keenest  on  the  one  side,  and  of  laughter  on 
the  other,  between  my  brother  and  his  plainer  school- 
fellows. Not  that  vve  had  the  slightest  jealousy  on  the  sub- 
ject —  far  from  it ;  it  struck  us  all  (as  it  generally  does 
strike  boys)  in  the  light  of  an  attaint  upon  the  dignity  of  a 
male,  that  he  should  be  subjected  to  the  caresses  of  women, 
without  leave  asked  ;  this  was  felt  to  be  a  badge  of  child- 
hood, and  a  proof  that  the  object  of  such  caressing  tender- 
ness, so  public  and  avowed,  must  be  regarded  in  the  light 
of  a  baby  —  not  to  mention  that  the  very  foundation  of  all 
this  distinction,  a  beautiful  face,  is  as  a  male  distinction  re- 
garded in  a  very  questionable  light  by  multitudes,  and  often 
by  those  most  who  are  the  possessors  of  that  distinction. 
Certainly  that  was  the  fact  in  my  brother's  case.  Not  one 
of  us  couIg  feel  so  pointedly  as  himself  the  ridicule  of  his 
situation  ;  nor  did  be  cease,  when  increasing  years  had  lib- 
erated him  from  that  female  expression  of  delight  in  his 
beauty,  to  regard  the  beauty  itself  as  a  degradation  ;  nor 
could  he  bear  to  be  flattered  upon  it ;  though,  in  reality,  it 
did  him  service  in  after  distresses,  when  no  other  endow- 
ment whatsoever  would  have  been  availing.     Often,  in  faci. 


MY    BROTHER.  335 

do  men's  natures  sternly  contradict  the  promise  of  their 
features  ;  for  no  person  would  have  believed  that,  under  the 
blooming  loveliness  of  a  Narcissus,  lay  shrouded  a  most 
heroic  nature  ;  not  merely  an  advent;,irous  courage,  but  with 
a  capacity  of  patient  submission  to  hardship,  and  of  wres- 
tling with  calamity,  such  as  is  rarely  found  amongst  the  en- 
dowments of  youth.  I  have  reason,  also,  to  think  that  the 
state  of  degradation  in  which  he  believed  himself  to  have 
passed  his  childish  years,  from  the  sort  of  public  petting 
which  I  have  described,  and  his  strong  recoil  from  it  as  an 
insult,  went  much  deeper  than  was  supposed,  and  had  much 
to  do  in  his  subsequent  conduct,  and  in  nerving  him  to  the 
strong  resolutions  he  adopted.  He  seemed  to  resent,  as  an 
original  insult  of  nature,  the  having  given  him  a  false  index 
of  character  in  his  feminine  beauty,  and  to  take  a  pleasure 
in  contradicting  it.  Had  it  been  in  his  power,  he  would 
have  spoiled  it.  Certain  it  is,  that,  from  the  time  he  reached 
his  eleventh  birthday,  he  had  begun  already  to  withdraw 
himself  from  the  society  of  all  other  boys,  —  to  fall  into  long 
fits  of  abstraction,  —  and  to  throw  himself  upon  his  own  re- 
sources in  a  way  neither  usual  nor  necessary.  Schoolfel- 
lows of  his  own  age  and  stanJing  —  those,  even,  who  were 
the  most  amiable  —  he  shunned;  and,  many  years  after  his 
disappearance,  I  found,  in  his  handwriting,  a  collection  of 
fragments,  couched  in  a  sort  of  wild  lyrical  verses,  present- 
ing, unquestionably,  the  most  extraordinary  evidences  of  a 
proud,  self-sustained  mind,  consciously  concentrating  his 
own  hopes  in  himself,  and  abjuring  the  rest  of  the  world, 
that  can  ever  have  emanated  from  so  young  a  person  ;  since, 
upon  the  largest  allowance,  and  supposing  them  to  have  been 
written  on  the  eve  of  his  quitting  England,  they  must  have 
been  written  at  the  age  of  twelve.  I  have  often  speculated 
on  the  subject  of  these  mysterious  compositions  ;  they  weie 
of  a  nature  to  have  proceeded   rather  from  some  mystical 


336  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

quietist,  such  as  Madame  Guyon,  if  with  this  rapt  devotion 
one  can  suppose  the  union  of  a  rebellious  and  murmuring 
ambition.  Passionate  apostrophes  there  were  to  nature  and 
the  powers  of  nature  ;  and  what  seemed  strangest  of  all 
was,  that,  in  style,  not  only  were  they  free  from  all  tumor 
and  inflation  which  might  have  been  looked  for  in  so  young 
a  writer,  but  were  even  wilfully  childish  and  colloquial  in  a 
pathetic  degree  —  in  fact,  in  point  of  tone,  allowing  for  the 
difference  between  a  narrative  poem  and  a  lyrical,  they 
somewhat  resemble  that  beautiful  poem  *  of  George  Her- 
bert, entitled  Love  Unknown,  in  which  he  describes  sym- 
bolically to  a  friend,  under  the  form  of  treacherous  ill 
usage  he  had  experienced,  the  religious  processes  by  which 
his  soul  had  been  weaned  from  the  world.  The  most  obvi- 
ous solution  of  the  mystery  would  be,  to  suppose  these  frag- 
ments to  have  been  copied  from  some  obscure  author  ;  but, 
besides  that  no  author  could  have  remained  obscure  in  this 
age  of  elaborate  research,  who  had  been  capable  of  sighs 
(for  such  I  may  call  them)  drawn  up  from  such  well-like 
depths  of  feeling,  and  expressed  with  such  fervor  and  sim- 
plicity of  language,  there  was  another  testimony  to  their 
being  the  productions  of  him  who  owned  the  penmanship  ; 
which  was,  that  some  of  the  papers  exhibited  the  whole 
process  of  creation  and  growth,  such  as  erasures,  substitu- 
tions, doubts  expressed  as  to  this  and  that  form  of  expression, 
together  with  references  backwards  and  forwards.  Now, 
that  the  handwriting  was  my  brother's,  admitted  of  no  doubt 
whatsoever.  I  go  on  with  his  story.  In  1800,  my  visit  to 
Ireland,  and  visits  to  other  places  subsequently,  separated 
me  from  him  for  above  a  year.     In  1801,  we  were  at  very 

*  This  poem,  from  great  admiration  of  its  mother  Englisli,  and  to 
ilhistrate  some  ideas  upon  style,  Mr.  Coleridge  republished  in  his 
''  Biographia  Literaria." 


MY    BROTHER.  337 

difierent  schools  —  I  in  the  highest  class  of  a  great  public 
school,  he  at  a  very  sequestered  parsonage  on  a  wild  moor 
(Horwich  Moor)  in  Lancashire.  This  situation,  probably, 
fed  and  cherished  his  melancholy  habits  ;  for  he  had  no 
society  except  that  of  a  younger  brotlier,  who  would  give 
him  no  disturbance  at  all.  The  development  of  our  national 
resources  had  not  yet  gone  so  far  as  absolutely  to  extermi- 
nate from  the  map  of  England  everything  like  a  heath,  a 
breezy  down,  (such  as  gave  so  peculiar  a  character  to  the 
counties  of  Wilts,  Somerset,  Dorset,  &c.,)  or  even  a  village 
common.  Heaths  were  yet  to  be  found  in  England,  not  so 
spacious,  indeed,  as  the  landes  of  France,  but  equally  wild 
and  romantic.  In  such  a  situation  my  brother  lived,  and 
under  the  tuition  of  a  clergyman,  retired  in  his  habits,  and 
even  ascetic,  but  gentle  in  his  manners.  To  that  I  can  speak 
myself;  for  in  the  winter  of  1801  I  dined  with  him,  and 
found  that  his  yoke  was,  indeed,  a  mild  one  ;  since,  even 
to  my  youngest  brotlier  H.,  a  headstrong  child  of  seven,  he 
used  no  stronger  remonstrance,  in  urging  him  to  some  essen- 
tial point  of  duty,  than  "Do  be  persuaded,  sir.''''  On  an- 
other occasion  I,  accompanied  by  a  friend,  slept  at  Mr.  J.'s  : 
we  were  accidentally  detained  there  through  the  greater 
part  of  the  following  day  by  snow  ;  and,  to  the  inexpressible 
surprise  of  my  companion,  a  mercantile  man  from  Man- 
chester, for  a  considerable  time  after  breakfast  the  reverend' 
gentleman  persisted  in  pursuing  my  brother  from  room  to 
room,  and  at  last  from  the  ground  floor  up  to  the  attics,  hold- 
ing a  book  open,  (which  turned  out  to  be  a  Latin  grammar  ;) 
each  of  them  (pursuer  and  pursued)  moving  at  a  tolerably 
slow  pace,  my  brother  H.  silent ;  but  Mr.  J.,  with  a  voice 
of  adjuration,  solemn  and  even  sad,  yet  kind  and  concilia- 
tory, singing  out  at  intervals,  ."  Do  be  persuaded,  sir !  " 
"  It  is  your  welfare  I  seek  !  "  "  Let  your  own  interest,  sir, 
plead  in  this  matter  between  us  !  "  And  so  the  chase 
22 


338  AUTOBIOGRAPniC    SKETCHES. 

continued,  ascending  and  descending,  up  to  the  very  garrets, 
down  to  the  very  cellars,  then  steadily  revolving  from  front 
to  rear  of  the  house  ;  but  finally  with  no  result  at  all.  The 
spectacle  reminded  me  of  a  groom  attempting  to  catch  a 
coy  pony  by  holding  out  a  sieve  containing,  or  pretending 
to  contain,  a  bribe  of  oats.  Mrs.  J.,  the  reverend  gentle- 
man's wife,  assured  us  that  the  same  process  went  on 
at  intervals  throughout  the  week  ;  and  in  any  case  it  was 
clearly  good  as  a  mode  of  exercise.  Now,  such  a  master, 
though  little  adapted  for  the  headstrong  H.,  was  the  very 
person  for  the  thoughtful  and  too  sensitive  R.  Search  the 
island  through,  there  could  not  have  been  found  another  sit- 
uation so  suitable  to  my  brother's  wayward  and  haughty 
nature.  The  clergyman  was  learned,  quiet,  absorbed  in 
his  studies ;  humble  and  modest  beyond  the  proprieties  of 
his  situation,  and  treating  my  brother  in  all  points  as  a 
companion  ;  whilst,  on  the  other  hand,  my  brother  was  not 
the  person  to  forget  the  respect  due,  by  a  triple  title,  to  a 
clergyman,  a  scholar,  and  his  own  preceptor  —  one,  besides, 
■who  so  little  thought  of  exacting  it.  How  happy  might  all 
parties  have  been  —  what  suffering,  what  danger,  what  years 
of  miserable  anxiety  might  have  been  spared  to  all  who 
were  interested  —  had  the  guardians  and  executors  of  my 
father's  will  thought  fit  to  "  let  well  alone  "  !  But,  '•'■  per  star 
'meglio^''  *  they  chose  to  remove  my  brother  from  this  gentle 
recluse  to  an  active,  bustling  man  of  the  world,  the  very  anti- 
pole in  character.  What  might  be  the  pretensions  of  this 
gentleman  to  scholarship,  T  never  had  any  means  of  judging  ; 
and,  considering  that  he  must  now,  (if  living  at  all,)  at  a  lis- 
tance  of  thirty-six  years,  be  gray  headed,  I  shall  respect  his 

*  From  the  well-known  Italian  epitaph  —  "  Stara  be/ie  ;  ma,  per  star 
meglio,  sto  gui "  —  I  was  well ;  but,  because  I  would  be  better  than 
well,  I  am  —  where  you  see. 


MY    BROTHER. 


339 


age  so  far  as  to  suppress  his  name.  He  was  of  a  class  now  an- 
nually declining  (and  1  hope  rapidly)  to  extinction.  Thanks 
be  to  God,  in  this  point  at  least,  for  the  dignity  of  human 
nature,  that,  amongst  the  many,  many  cases  of  reform  des- 
tined eventually  to  turn  out  chimerical,  this  one,  at  least, 
never  can  be  defeated,  injured,  or  eclipsed.  As  man  grows 
more  intellectual,  the  power  of  managing  him  by  his  intel- 
lect and  his  moral  nature,  in  utter  contempt  of  all  appeals 
to  his  mere  animal  instincts  of  pain,  must  go  on  pari  passu. 
And,  if  a  "Tie  Demi,''''  or  an  "0,  Jubilate!''''  were  to  be 
celebrated  by  all  nations  and  languages  for  any  one  advance 
and  absolute  conquest  over  wrong  and  error  won  by  human 
nature  in  our  times,  —  yes,  not  excepting 

"  The  bloody  writing  by  all  nations  torn  "  — 

the  abolition  of  the  commerce  in  slaves,  —  to  my  thinking, 
that  festival  should  be  for  the  mighty  progress  made  towards 
the  suppression  of  brutal,  bestial  modes  of  punishment. 
Nay,  I  may  call  them  worse  than  bestial ;  for  a  man  of  any 
goodness  of  nature  does  not  willingly  or  needlessly  resort 
to  the  spur  or  the  lash  with  his  horse  or  with  his  hound. 
But,  with  respect  to  man,  if  he  will  not  be  moved  or  won 
over  by  conciliatory  means,  —  by  means  that  presuppose 
him  a  reasonable  creature,  —  then  let  him  die,  confounded 
in  his  own  vileness ;  but  let  not  me,  let  not  the  man  (that 
is  to  say)  who  has  him  in  his  power,  dishonor  himself  by 
inflicting  punishments,  violating  that  grandeur  of  human 
nature  which,  not  in  any  vague  rhetorical  sense,  but  upon 
a  religious  principle  of  duty,  (viz.,  the  scriptural  doctrine 
that  the  human  person  is  "  the  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost,") 
ought  to  be  a  consecrated  thing  in  the  eyes  of  all  good  men  ; 
and  of  this  we  may  be  assured,  —  this  is  more  sure  than  day 
or  night,  —  that,  in  proportion  as  man  is  honored,  exalted, 


340  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

trus.ed,  in  that  proportion  will  he  become  more  worthy  of 
honor,  of  exaltation,  of  trust. 

This  schoolmaster  had  very  different  views  of  man  and 
his  nature.  He  not  only  thought  that  physical  coercion 
was  the  one  sole  engine  by  which  man  could  be  managed, 
but  —  on  the  principle  of  that  common  maxim  which  de- 
clares that,  when  two  schoolboys  meet,  with  powers  at  all 
near  to  a  balance,  no  peace  can  be  expected  between  them 
until  it  is  fairly  settled  which  is  the  master  —  on  that  same 
principle  he  fancied  that  no  pupil  could  adequately  or  pro- 
portionably  reverence  his  master  until  he  had  settled  the 
precise  proportion  of  superiority  in  animal  powers  by  which 
his  master  was  in  advance  of  himself.  Strength  of  blows 
only  could  ascertain  that ;  and,  as  he  was  not  very  nice 
about  creating  his  opportunities,  as  he  plunged  at  once 
"  171  medias  res,'"  and  more  especially  when  he  saw  or  sus- 
pected any  rebellious  tendencies,  he  soon  picked  a  quarrel 
with  my  unfortunate  brother.  Not,  be  it  observed,  that  he 
much  cared  for  a  well-looking  or  respectable  quarrel.  No. 
I  have  been  assured  that,  even  when  the  most  fawning  ob- 
sequiousness had  appealed  to  his  clemency,  in  the  person 
of  some  timorous  new-comer,  appalled  by  the  reports  he 
had  heard,  even  in  such  cases,  (deeming  it  wise  to  im- 
press, from  the  beginning,  a  salutary  awe  of  his  Jovian 
thunders)  he  made  a  practice  of  doing  thus  :  He  would 
speak  loud,  utter  some  order,  not  very  clearly,  perhaps,  as 
respected  the  sound,  but  with  perfect  perplexity  as  regarded 
the  sense,  to  the  timid,  sensitive  boy  upon  whom  he  intended 
to  fix  a  charge  of  disobedience.  "  Sir,  if  you  please,  what 
was  it  that  you  said  ?  "  "  What  was  it  that  I  said  ?  What ! 
playing  upon  my  words?  Chopping  logic.''  Strip,  sir; 
..strip  this  instant."  Thenceforward  this  timid  boy  became 
a  serviceable  instrument  in  his  equipage.  Not  only  was 
he  a  proof,  even  without  cotiperation  on    the  master's  part, 


MY    BROTHER.  341 

that  extreme  cases  of  submission  could  not  insure  mercy, 
but  also  he,  this  boy,  in  his  own  person,  breathed  forth,  at 
intervals,  a  dim  sense  of  awe  and  worship  —  the  religion 
of  fear  —  towards  the  grim  Moloch  of  the  scene.  Hence, 
as  by  electrical  conductors,  was  conveyed  throughout  every 
region  of  the  establishment  a  tremulous  sensibility  that 
vibrated  towards  the  centre.  Different,  O  Rowland  Hill ! 
are  the  laws  of  thy  establishment ;  far  other  are  the  echoes 
heard  amid  the  ancient  halls  of  Bruce.*  There  it  is  pos- 
sible for  the  timid  child  to  be  happy  —  for  the  child  destined 
to  an  early  grave  to  reap  his  brief  harvest  in  peace.  Where- 
fore were  there  no  such  asylums  in  those  days  ?  Man 
flourished  then,  as  now,  in  beauty  and  in  power.  Where- 
fore did  he  not  put  forth  his  power  upon  establishments  that 
might  cultivate  happiness  as  well  as  knowledge  ?  Where- 
fore did  no  man  cry  aloud,  in  the  spirit  of  Wordsworth,  — 

"  Ah,  what  avails  heroic  deed  1 
What  liberty  ?  if  no  defence 
Be  won  for  feeble  innocence. 
Father  of  all !  though  wilful  manhood  read 
His  punishment  in  soul  distress, 
Grant  to  the  morn  of  life  its  natural  blessedness  "  ? 

Meantime,  my  brother  R.,  in  an  evil  hour,  having  been  re- 
moved from  that  most  quiet  of  human  sanctuaries,  having 
forfeited  that  peace  which  possibly  he  was  never  to  retrieve, 
fell  (as  I  have  said)  into  the  power  of  this  Moloch.  And 
this  Moloch  upon  him  illustrated  the  laws  of  his  establish- 


*  This  was  not  meant  assuredly  as  any  advertisement  of  an  estab- 
lishment, which  could  not  by  all  reports  need  any  man's  praise,  but 
was  written  under  a  very  natural  impulse  derived  from  a  recent  visit 
to  the  place,  and  under  an  unaffected  sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  free- 
dom and  enjoyment  that  seemed  to  reign  amongst  the  young  people. 


312  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

merit ;  him  also,  the  gentle,  the  beautiful,  but  also  the 
proud,  the  haughty,  he  beat,  kicked,  trampled  on  ! 

In  two  hours  from  that  time,  my  brother  was  on  the  road 
to  Liverpool.  Painfully  he  made  out  his  way,  having  not 
much  money,  and  with  a  sense  of  total  abandonment  which 
made  him  feel  that  all  he  might  have  would  prove  little 
enough  for  his  purposes. 

My  brother  went  to  an  inn,  after  his  long,  long  journey 
to  Liverpool,  footsore  —  (for  he  had  walked  through  four 
days,  and,  from  ignorance  of  the  world,  combined  with  ex- 
cessive shyness,  —  O,  how  shy  do  people  become  from 
pi-ide  !  —  had  not  profited  by  those  well-known  incidents 
upon  English  high  roads  —  return  post  chaises,  stage 
coaches,  led  horses,  or  wagons)  —  footsore,  and  eager  for 
sleep.  Sleep,  supper,  breakfast  in  the  morning,  —  all  these 
he  had  ;  so  far  his  slender  finances  reached  ;  and  for  these 
he  paid  the  treacherous  landlord  ;  who  then  proposed  to 
him  that  they  should  take  a  walk  out  together,  by  way  of 
looking  at  the  public  buildings  and  the  docks.  It  seems 
the  man  had  noticed  my  brother's  beauty,  some  circum- 
stances about  his  dress  inconsistent  with  his  mode  of  travel- 
ling, and  also  his  style  of  conversation.  Accordingly,  he 
wiled  him  along  from  street  to  street,  until  they  reached 
the  Town  Hall.  "  Here  seems  to  be  a  fine  building,"  said 
this  Jesuitical  guide,  —  as  if  it  had  been  some  new  Pompeii, 
some  Luxor  or  Palmyra,  that  he  had  unexpectedly  lit  upon 
amongst  the  undiscovered  parts  of  Liverpool,  —  "  here  seems 
to  be  a  fine  building ;  shall  we  go  in  and  ask  leave  to  look 
at  it  >  "  My  brother,  thinking  less  of  the  spectacle  than 
the  spectator,  whom,  in  a  wilderness  of  man,  naturally  he 
wished  to  make  his  friend,  consented  readily.  In  they 
went ;  and,  by  the  merest  accident,  Mr.  Mayor  and  the  town 
council  were  then  sitting.  To  them  the  insidious  landlord 
communicated  privately  an  account  of  his  suspicions.     He 


MY    BROTHER.  343 

himself  conducted  my  brother,  under  pretence  of  discover- 
ing tlie  best  station  for  picturesque  purpcses,  to  the  particu- 
lar box  for  prisoners  at  the  bar.  This  was  not  suspected 
by  the  poor  boy,  not  even  when  Mr.  Mayor  began  to  ques- 
tion him.  He  still  thought  it  an  accident  though  doubtless 
he  blushed  excessively  on  being  questioned,  and  questioned 
so  impertinently,  in  public.  The  object  of  the  mayor  and 
of  other  Liverpool  gentlemen  then  present  was,  to  ascertain 
my  brother's  real  rank  and  family  ;  for  he  persisted  in  rep- 
resenting himself  as  a  poor  wandering  boy.  Various  means 
were  vainly  tried  to  elicit  this  information;  until  at  length 
—  like  the  wily  Ulysses,  who  mixed  wiih  his  peddler's  bud- 
get of  female  ornaments  and  attire  a  few  arms,  by  way  of 
tempting  Achilles  to  a  self-detection  in  the  court  of  Ly- 
comedes — one  gentleman  counselled  the  mayor  to  send 
for  a  Greek  Testament.  This  was  done;  the  Testament 
was  presented  open  at  St.  John's  Gospel  to  my  brother,  and 
he  was  requested  to  say  whether  he  knew  in  what  language 
that  book  was  written ;  or  whether,  perhaps,  he  could  furnish 
them  with  a  translation  from  the  page  before  him.  R.,  in 
his  confusion,  did  not  read  the  meaning  of  this  appeal,  and 
fell  into  the  snare  ;  construed  a  few  verses ;  and  immedi- 
ately was  consigned  to  the  care  of  a  gentleman,  who  won 
from  him  by  kindness  what  he  had  refused  to  importunities 
or  menaces.  His  family  he  confessed  at  once,  but  not  his 
school.  An  express  was  therefore  forwarded  from  Liver- 
pool to  our  nearest  male  relative  —  a  military  man,  then  by 
accident  on  leave  of  absence  from  hidia.  He  came  over, 
took  my  brother  back,  (looking  upon  the  whole  as  a  boyish 
frolic  of  no  permanent  importance,)  made  some  stipulations 
in  his  behalf  for  indemnity  from  punishment,  and  immedi- 
ately returned  home.  Left  to  himself,  the  grim  tyrant  of 
the  school  easily  evaded  the  stipulations,  and  repeated  his 
brutalities  more  fiercely  than  before  —  now  acting  in  the 
double  spirit  of  tyranny  and  revenge. 


344  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

In  a  few  hours,  my  brother  was  again  on  the  road  to 
Liverpool.  But  not  on  this  occasion  did  he  resort  to  any 
inn,  or  visit  any  treacherous  hunter  of  the  picturesque.  He 
offered  himself  to  no  temptations  now,  nor  to  any  risks. 
Right  onwards  he  went  to  the  docks,  addressed  himself  to 
a  grave,  elderly  master  of  a  trading  vessel,  bound  upon 
a  distant  voyage,  and  instantly  procured  an  engagement. 
The  skipper  was  a  good  and  sensible  man,  and  (as  it 
turned  out)  a  sailor  accomplished  in  all  parts  of  his  profes- 
sion. The  ship  which  he  commanded  was  a  South  Sea 
whaler,  belonging  to  Lord  Grenville  —  whether  lying  at 
Liverpool  or  in  the  Thames  at  that  moment,  I  am  not  sure. 
However,  they  soon  afterwards  sailed. 

For  somewhat  less  than  three  years  my  brother  continued 
under  the  care  of  this  good  man,  who  was  interested  by  his 
appearance,  and  by  some  resemblance  which  he  fancied  in 
his  features  to  a  son  whom  he  had  lost.  Fortunate,  in- 
deed, for  the  poor  boy  was  this  interval  of  fatherly  super- 
intendence ;  for,  under  this  captain,  he  was  not  only 
preserved  from  the  perils  which  afterwards  beseiged  him, 
until  his  years  had  made  him  more  capable  of  confronting 
them,  but  also  he  had  thus  an  opportunity,  which  he 
improved  to  the  utmost,  of  making  himself  acquainted  with 
the  two  separate  branches  of  his  profession  —  navigation 
and  seamanship,  qualifications  which  are  not  very  often 
united. 

After  the  death  of  this  captain,  my  brother  ran  through 
many  wild  adventures ;  until  at  length,  after  a  severe 
action,  fought  off  the  coast  of  Peru,  the  armed  merchant- 
man in  wliich  he  then  served  was  captured  by  pirates. 
Most  of  the  crew  were  massacred.  My  brother,  on  account 
of  tne  important  services  he  could  render,  was  spared  ;  and 
with  these  pirates,  cruising  under  a  black  flag,  and  perpe- 
trating unnumbered  atrocities,  he  was  obliged  to  sail  for 


MY    BROTHER.  345 

the  next  two  years ;  nor  could  he,  in  all  that  period,  find 
any  opportunity  for  effecting  his  escape. 

During  this  long  expatriation,  let  any  thoughtful  reader 
imagine  the  perils  of  every  sort  which  beseiged  one  so 
young,  so  inexperienced,  so  sensitive,  and  so  haughty ; 
perils  to  his  life ;  (but  these  it  was  the  very  expression  of 
his  unhappy  situation,  were  the  perils  least  to  be  mourned 
for :)  perils  to  his  good  name,  going  the  length  of  absolute 
infamy  —  since,  if  the  piratical  ship  had  been  captured  by 
a  British  man-of-war,  he  might  have  found  it  impossible  to 
clear  himself  of  a  voluntary  participation  in  the  bloody 
actions  of  his  shipmates;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  (a  case 
equally  probable  in  the  regions  which  they  frequented,) 
supposing  him  to  have  been  captured  by  a  Spanish  guarda 
cosf.a,  he  would  scarcely  have  been  able,  from  his  igno- 
rance of  the  Spanish  language,  to  draw  even  a  momentary 
attention  to  the  special  circumstances  of  his  own  situation; 
he  would  have  been  involved  in  the  general  presumptions 
of  the  case,  and  would  have  been  executed  in  a  summary 
way,  upon  the  prima  facie  evidence  against  him,  that  he 
did  not  appear  to  be  in  the  condition  of  a  prisoner  ;  and,  if 
his  name  had  ever  again  reached  his  country,  it  would 
have  been  in  some  sad  list  of  ruffians,  murderers,  traitors 
to  their  country  ;  and  even  these  titles,  as  if  not  enough  in 
themselves,  aggravated  by  the  name  of  pirate,  which  at 
once  includes  them  all,  and  surpasses  them  all.  These 
were  perils  sufficiently  distressing  at  any  rate  ;  but  last  of 
all  came  others  even  more  appalling  —  the  perils  of  moral 
contamination,  in  that  excess  which  might  be  looked  for 
from  such  associates;  not,  be  it  recollected,  a  few  wild 
notions  or  lawless  principles  adopted  into  his  creed  of 
practical  ethics,  but  that  brutal  transfiguration  of  the  entire 
character,  which  occurs,  for  instance,  in  the  case  of  the 
young  gypsy  son   of  Effie   Deans ;    a  change   making   it 


346  A.  rOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

impossible  to  rely  upon  the  very  holiest  instincts  of  the 
moral  nature,  and  consigning  its  victim  to  hopeless  repro- 
bation. Murder  itself  might  have  lost  its  horrors  to  one 
who  must  have  been  but  too  familiar  with  the  spectacle 
of  massacre  by  wholesale  upon  unresisting  crews,  upon 
passengers  enfeebled  by  sickness,  or  upon  sequestered  vil- 
lagers, roused  from  their  slumbers  by  the  glare  of  confln- 
gration,  reflected  from  gleaming  cutlasses  and  from  the 
faces  of  demons.  This  fear  it  was  —  a  fear  like  this,  as  I 
have  often  thought  —  which  must,  amidst  her  other  woes, 
have  been  the  Aaron  woe  that  swallowed  up  all  the  rest  to 
the  unhappy  Marie  Antoinette.  This  must  have  been  the 
sting  of  death  to  her  maternal  heart,  the  grief  paramount, 
the  "crowning"  grief — the  prospect,  namely,  that  her 
royal  boy  would  not  be  dismissed  from  the  horrors  of 
royalty  to  peace  and  humble  innocence ;  but  that  his  fair 
cheek  would  be  ravaged  by  vice  as  well  as  sorrow  ;  that 
he  would  be  tempted  into  brutal  orgies,  and  every  mode  of 
moral  pollution;  until,  like  poor  Constance  with  her  young 
Arthur,  but  for  a  sadder  reason,  even  if  it  were  possible 
that  the  royal  mother  should  see  her  son  in  "  the  courts  of 
heaven,"  she  would  not  know  again  one  so  fearfully  trans- 
figured. This  prospect  for  the  royal  Constance  of  revolu- 
tionary France  was  but  too  painfully  fulfilled,  as  we  are 
taught  to  guess  even  from  the  faithful  records  of  the 
Duchesse  d'Angouleme.  The  young  dauphin,  (^it  has  been 
said,  1837,)  to  the  infamy  of  his  keepers,  was  so  trained 
as  to  become  loathsome  for  coarse  brutality,  as  well  as  for 
habits  of  uncleanliness,  to  all  who  approached  him  —  one 
purpose  of  his  guilty  tutors  being  to  render  royalty  and 
august  descent  contemptible  in  his  person.  And,  in  fiict, 
they  were  so  far  likely  to  succeed  in  this  purpose,  for  the 
moment,  and  to  the  extent  of  an  individual  case,  that,  upon 
that  account  alone,  but  still  more  for  the  sake  of  the  poor 


MY    BROTHER.  347 

child,  the  most  welcome  news  with  respect  to  him  —  him 
whose  birth  *  had  drawn  anthems  of  exultation  from  twen- 
ty-fiv-e  millions  of  men —  was  the  news  of  his  death.  And 
what  else  can  well  be  ex  Jected  for  children  suddenly  with- 

*  To  those  who  are  open  to  the  impression  of  omens,  there  is  a  most 
strikin<^  one  on  record  with  respect  to  the  birtli  of  this  ill-fated  prince, 
not  less  so  than  the  falling  off  of  the  head  from  the  cane  of  Charles  I. 
at  his  trial,  or  the  same  king's  striking  a  medal,  bearing  an  oak  tree, 
(prefiguring  the  oak  of  Boscohel,)  with  this  prophetic  inscription,  "  Seris 
nepotihiis  timbram."  At  the  very  moment  when  (according  to  imme- 
morial usage)  the  birth  of  a  child  was  in  the  act  of  annunciation  to 
the  great  officers  of  state  assembled  in  the  queen's  bed  chamber,  and 
when  a  private  signal  from  a  lady  had  made  known  the  glad  tidings 
that  it  was  a  dauphin,  (the  first  child  having  been  a  princess,  to  the 
signal  disappointment  of  the  nation  ;  and  the  second,  who  was  a  boy, 
having  died,)  the  whole  frame  of  carved  woodwork  at  the  back  of 
the  queen's  bed,  representing  the  crown  and  other  regalia  of  France, 
with  the  Bourbon  lilies,  came  rattling  down  in  ruins.  There  is 
another  and  more  direct  ill  omen  connected,  apparently,  with  the 
birth  of  this  prince  ;  in  fact,  a  distinct  prophecy  of  his  ruin,  —  a  proph- 
ecy that  he  sliould  survive  his  father,  and  yet  not  reign,  —  which  is  so 
obscurely  told,  that  one  knows  not  in  what  light  to  view  it ;  and 
especially  since  Louis  XVIII.,  who  is  the  original  authority  for  it, 
obviously  confounds  the  first  dauphin,  who  died  before  the  calamities 
of  his  family  commenced,  with  the  second.  As  to  this  second,  who  is 
of  course  the  prince  concerned  in  the  references  of  the  text,  a  new 
and  most  extraordinary  interest  has  begun  to  invest  his  tragical  story 
in  this  very  month  of  April,  18.53  ;  at  least,  it  is  now  first  brought 
before  universal  Christendom.  In  the  monthly  journal  of  Putnam, 
(published  in  New  York,)  the  No.  for  April  contains  a  most  interesting 
memoir  upon  the  subject,  signed  T.  H.  Hanson.  Naturally,  it  indis- 
posed most  readers  to  put  faith  in  any  fresh  pretensions  of  this  nature, 
that  at  least  one  false  dauphin  had  been  pronouncad  such  by  so  unde- 
niable a  judge  as  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme.  Meantime,  it  is  made 
probable  enough  by  Mr.  Hanson  that  the  true  dauphin  did  not  die  in 
the  year  1795  at  the  Temple,  bu:  was  personated  by  a  boy  unknown; 
tliat  two  separate  parties  had  an  equal  interest  in  sustaining  this  fraud, 
and  did  sustain  it ;  but  one  wou_d  hesitate  to  believe  whether  at  the 
price  of  murdering  a  celebrated  physician  ;  that  they  had  the  prince 


348  AUTOBIOGR  A.PHIC    SKETCHES. 

drawn  from  parental  tenderness,  and  thrown  upon  their 
own  guardianship  at  such  an  age  as  nine  or  ten,  and  under 
the  wilful  misleading  of  perfidious  guides  ?  But,  in  my 
brother's  case,  all  the  adverse  chances,  overwhelming  as 

conveyed  secretly  to  an  Indian  settlement  in  Lower  Canada,  as  a 
situation  in  which  French,  being  the  prevailing  language,  would 
attract  no  attention,  as  it  must  have  done  in  most  other  parts  of  North 
America ;  that  the  boy  was  educated  and  trained  as  a  missionary  cler- 
gyman ;  and  finally,  that  he  is  now  acting  in  that  capacity  under  the 
name  of  Eleazar  Williams  —  perfectly  aware  of  the  royal  pretensions 
put  forward  on  his  behalf,  but  equally,  through  age  (being  about  69) 
and  through  absorption  in  spiritual  views,  indifferent  to  these  preten- 
sions. It  is  admitted  on  all  hands  that  the  Prince  de  Joinville  had  an 
interview  with  Eleazar  Williams  a  dozen  years  since  —  the  prince 
alleges  through  mere  accident;  but  this  seems  improbable;  and  Mr 
Hanson  is  likely  to  be  right  in  supposing  this  visit  to  have  been  a  pre- 
concerted one,  growing  out  of  some  anxiety  to  test  the  reports  current, 
so  far  as  they  were  gounded  upon  resemblances  in  Mr.  Williams's  fea- 
tures to  those  of  the  Bourbon  and  Austrian  families.  The  most 
patiictic  fact  is  that  of  the  idiocy  common  to  the  dauphin  and  Mr. 
Eleazar  Williams.  It  is  clear  from  all  the  most  authentic  accounts 
of  the  young  prince  that  idiocy  was  in  reality  stealing  over  him  — 
due,  doubtless,  to  the  stunning  nature  of  the  calamities  that  overwhelmed 
his  family ;  to  the  removal  from  him  by  tragical  deaths,  in  so  rapid  a 
succession,  of  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe,  of  his  aunt,  of  his  father, 
of  his  mother,  and  others  whom  most  he  had  loved ;  to  his  cruel  sep- 
aration from  his  sister;  and  to  the  astounding  (for  hun  naturally 
incomprehensible)  change  that  had  come  ov"er  the  demeanor  and  the 
language  of  nearly  all  the  people  placed  about  the  persons  of  himself 
and  his  family.  An  idiocy  resulting  from  what  must  have  seemed  a 
causeless  and  demoniac  conspiracy  would  be  more  likely  to  melt  away 
under  the  sudden  transfer  to  kindness  and  the  gayety  of  forest  life 
than  any  idiocy  belonging  to  original  organic  imbecility.  Mr.  Williams 
describes  his  own  confusion  of  mind  as  continuing  up  to  iiis  four- 
teenth year,  and  all  things  which  had  liappened  in  earlier  years  as 
gleaming  through  clouds  of  oblivion,  and  as  painfully  perplexing;  but 
otherwise  he  shows  no  desire  to  strengthen  the  pretensions  made  for 
nimself  by  any  reminiscences  piercing  these  clouds  that  could  point 
specially  to  France  or  to  royal  experiences. 


BIY    BROTHER.  319 

'hey  seemed,  were  turned  aside  by  some  good  angel ;  all 
liad  failed  to  harm  him  ;  and  from  the  fiery  furnace  he 
came  out  unsinged. 

I  have  said  that  he  would  not  have  appeared  to  any 
capturing  ship  as  standing  in  the  situation  of  prisoner 
amongst  the  pirates,  nor  was  he  such  in  the  sense  of  being 
confined.  He  moved  about,  when  on  board  ship,  in  free- 
dom ;  but  he  was  watched,  never  trusted  on  shore,  unless 
under  very  peculiar  circumstances ;  and  tolerated  at  all 
only  because  one  accomplishment  made  him  indispensable 
to  the  prosperity  of  the  ship.  Amongst  the  various  parts 
of  nautical  skill  communicated  to  my  brother  by  his  first 
fatherly  captain,  was  the  management  of  chronometers. 
Several  had  been  captured,  some  of  the  highest  value,  in 
the  many  prizes,  European  or  American.  My  brother 
happened  to  be  perfect  in  the  skill  of  managing  them ; 
and,  fortunately  for  him,  no  other  person  amongst  them 
had  that  skill,  even  in  its  lowest  degree.  To  this  one 
qualification,  therefore,  (and  ultimately  to  this  only,)  he 
was  indebted  for  both  safety  and  freedom  ;  since,  though 
he  might  have  been  spared  in  the  first  moments  of  car- 
nage from  other  considerations,  there  is  little  doubt  that, 
in  some  one  of  the  innumerable  brawls  which  followed 
through  the  years  of  his  captivity,  he  would  have  fallen 
a  sacrifice  to  hasty  impulses  of  anger  or  wantonness,  had 
not  his  safety  been  made  an  object  of  interest  and  vigilance 
to  those  in  command,  and  to  all  who  assumed  any  care  for 
the  general  welfare.  Much,  therefore,  it  was  that  he  owed 
to  this  accomplishment.  Still,  there  is  no  good  thing  with- 
out its  alloy ;  and  this  great  blessing  brought  along  with  it 
something  worse  than  a  dull  duty  —  the  necessity,  in  fact, 
of  facing  fears  and  trials  to  which  the  sailor's  heart  is  pre- 
eminently sensible.  All  sailors,  it  is  notorious,  are  super- 
stitious ;  partly,  I  suppose,  from  looking  out  so  much  upon 


350  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

the  wilderness  of  waves,  empty  of  all  h  jman  life ,  for 
mighty  solitudes  are  generally  fear-haunted  and  fear- 
peopled  ;  such,  for  instance,  as  the  solitudes  of  forests, 
where,  in  the  absence  of  human  forms  and  ordinary  human 
sounds,  are  discerned  forms  more  dusky  and  vague,  not 
referred  by  the  eye  to  any  known  type,  and  sounds  imper- 
fectly intelligible.  And,  therefore,  are  all  German  coal 
burners,  woodcutters,  &c.,  superstitious.  Now,  the  sea  is 
often  peopled,  amidst  its  ravings,  with  what  seem  innumer- 
able human  voices  —  such  voices,  or  as  ominous,  as  what 
were  heard  by  Kubia  Khan  —  "ancestral  voices  prophesy- 
ing war;"  oftentimes  laughter  mixes,  from  a  distance, 
(seeming  to  come  also  from  distant  times,  as  well  as  dis- 
tant places,)  with  the  uproar  of  waters ;  and  doubtless 
shapes  of  fear,  or  shapes  of  beauty  not  less  awful,  are  at 
times  seen  upon  the  waves  by  the  diseased  eye  of  the 
sailor,  in  other  cases  besides  the  somewhat  rare  one  of 
calenture.  This  vast  solitude  of  the  sea  being  taken, 
therefore,  as  one  condition  of  the  superstitious  fear  found 
so  commonly  among  sailors,  a  second  may  be  the  perilous 
insecurity  of  their  own  lives,  or  (if  the  lives  of  sailors, 
after  all,  by  means  of  large  immunities  from  danger  in 
other  shapes  are  vot  so  insecure  as  is  supposed,  though, 
by  the  way,  it  is  enough  for  this  result  that  to  themselves 
they  seem  so)  yet,  at  all  events,  the  insecurity  of  the  ships 
in  which  they  sail.  In  such  a  case,  in  the  case  of  battle, 
and  in  others  where  the  empire  of  chance  seems  absolute, 
there  the  temptation  is  greatest  to  dally  with  supernatural 
oracles  and  supernatural  means  of  consulting  them.  Fi- 
nally, the  interruption  habitually  of  all  ordinary  avenues 
to  information  about  the  fate  of  their  dearest  relatives ;  the 
consequent  agitation  which  must  often  possess  those  who 
are  reentering  upon  home  waters  ;  and  the  sudden  burst, 
upon  stepping  ashore,  of  heart-shaking  news  in  long  accu- 


MY    BROTHER.  351 

mulat'id  arrears,  —  these  are  circumstances  which  dispose 
the  mind  to  look  out  for  rehef  towards  signs  and  omens  as 
one  way  of  breaking  the  sliock  by  dim  anticipations.  Rats 
leaving  a  vessel  destined  to  sink,  although  the  political 
application  of  it  as  a  name  of  reproach  is  purely  modern, 
must  be  ranked  among  the  oldest  of  omens  ;  and  perhaps 
the  most  sober-minded  of  men  might  have  leave  to  be 
moved  with  any  augury  of  an  ancient  traditional  order, 
such  as  had  won  faith  for  centuries,  applied  to  a  fate  so 
interesting  as  that  of  the  ship  to  which  he  was  on  the  point 
of  committing  himself.  Other  causes  might  be  assigned, 
causative  of  nautical  superstition,  and  tending  to  feed  it. 
But  enough.  It  is  well  known  that  the  whole  family  of 
sailors  is  superstitious.  My  brother,  poor  Pink,  (this  was 
an  old  household  name  which  he  retained  amongst  us  from 
an  incident  of  his  childhood,)  was  so  in  an  immoderate  de- 
gree. Being  a  great  reader,  (in  fact,  he  had  read  every 
thing  in  his  mother  tongue  that  was  of  general  interest,) 
he  was  pretty  well  aware  how  general  was  the  ridicule 
attached  in  our  times  to  the  subject  of  ghosts.  But  this  — 
nor  tlie  reverence  he  yielded  otherwise  to  some  of  those 
writers  who  had  joined  in  that  ridicule  —  any  more  had 
unsettled  his  faith  in  their  existence  than  the  submission 
of  a  sailor  in  a  religious  sense  to  his  spiritual  counsellor 
upon  the  false  and  fraudulent  pleasures  of  luxury  can  ever 
disturb  his  remembrance  of  the  virtues  lodged  in  rum  or 
tobacco.  His  own  unconquerable,  unanswerable  experi- 
ence, the  blank  realities  of  pleasure  and  pain,  put  to  flight 
all  arguments  whatsoever  that  anchor  only  in  his  under- 
standing. Pink  used,  in  arguing  the  case  with  me,  to  ad- 
mit that  ghosts  might  be  questionable  realities  in  our 
hemisphere  ;  but  "  it's  a  different  thing  to  the  suthard  of 
the  line."  And  then  he  would  go  on  to  tell  me  of  his  own 
fearful    experience  ;  in  particular  of  one    many  times   re- 


352  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

newed,  and  investigated  to  no  purpose  by  parties  of  men 
communicating  from  a  distance  upon  a  system  of  concerted 
signals,  in  one  of  tlie  Gallapagos  Islands.  These  islands, 
wnich  were  visited,  and  I  tiiink  described,  by  Dampier, 
and  therefore  must  have  been  an  asylum  to  the  buccaneers 
and  flibustiers  *  in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury, were  so  still  to  their  more  desperate  successors,  the 
pirates,  at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  ;  and  for  the 
same  reason  —  the  facilities  they  offer  (rare  in  those  seas) 
for  procuring  wood  and  water.  Hither,  then,  the  black  flag 
often  resorted  ;  and  here,  amidst  these  romantic  solitudes, — 
islands  untenanted  by  man,  —  oftentimes  it  lay  furled  up  for 
weeks  together;  rapine  and  murder  had  rest  for  a  season, 
and  the  bloody  cutlass  slept  within  its  scabbard.  When 
this  happened,  and  when  it  became  known  beforehand  that 
it  would  happen,  a  tent  was  pitched  on  shore  for  my  brother, 
and  the  chronometers  were  transported  thither  for  the  period 
of  their  stay. 

The  island  selected  for  this  purpose,  amongst  the  many 
equally  open  to  their  choice,  might,  according  to  circum- 
stances, be  that  which  offered  the  best  anchorage,  or  that 
from  which  the  reembarkation  was  easiest,  or  that  which 
allowed  the  readiest  access  to  wood  and  water.  But  for 
some,  or  all  these  advantages,  the  particular  island  most 
generally  honored  by  the  piratical  custom  and  "  good  will " 
was  one  known  to  American  navigators  as  "  The  Wood- 
cutter's   Island."     There  was  some  old  tradition  —  and  I 

*  '■'■Flibustiers:'' — This  word,  which  is  just  now  revolving  upon  us 
in  connection  with  the  attempts  on  Cuba,  &c.,  is  constantly  spelt  by 
our  own  and  the  American  journals  as  fillihustiers  and  fillibusteros. 
But  the  true  word  of  nearly  two  centuries  back  amongst  the  old  original 
race  of  sea  robbers  (French  and  English)  that  made  irregular  war 
upon  the  Spanish  sliipping  and  maritime  towns  was  that  which  ^ 
have  here  retained. 


MY    BROTIIEn.  353 

know  not  but  it  was  a  tradition  dating  from  the  times  of 
Dumpier — that  a  Spaniard  or  an  Indian  settler  in  this 
island  (relying,  perhaps,  too  entirely  upon  the  protection  of 
perfect  solitude)  had  been  murdered  in  pure  wantonness 
by  some  of  the  lawless  rovers  who  frequented  this  solitary 
archipelago.  Whether  it  were  from  some  peculiar  atrocity 
of  bad  faith  in  the  act,  or  from  the  sanctity  of  the  man,  or 
the.  deep  solitude  of  the  island,  or  with  a  view  to  the  peculiar 
edification  of  mariners  in  these  semi-Christian  seas,  so, 
however,  it  was,  and  attested  by  generations  of  sea  vaga- 
bonds, (for  most  of  the  armed  roamers  in  these  ocean  Zaaras 
at  one  time  were  of  a  suspicious  order,)  that  every  night, 
duly  as  the  sun  went  down  and  the  twilight  began  to  prevail, 
a  sound  arose  —  audible  to  other  islands,  and  to  every  ship 
lying  quietly  at  anchor  in  tliat  neighborhood  —  of  a  wood- 
cutter's axe.  Sturdy  were  the  blows,  and  steady  the  suc- 
cession in  which  they  followed  :  some  even  fancied  they 
could  hear  that  sort  of  groaning  respiration  which  is  made 
by  men  who  use  an  axe,  or  by  those  who  in  towns  ply  the 
"  three-man  beetle  "  of  FalstafT,  as  paviers  ;  echoes  they 
certainly  heard  of  every  blow,  from  the  profound  woods 
and  the  sylvan  precipices  on  the  margin  of  the  shores  ; 
which,  however,  should  rather  indicate  that  the  sounds  were 
not  supernatural,  since,  if  a  visual  object,  falling  under 
hyper-physical  or  cata-physical  laws,  loses  its  shadow,  by 
parity  of  argument,  an  audible  object,  in  the  same  circum- 
stances, should  lose  its  echo.  But  this  was  the  story  ;  and 
amongst  sailors  there  is  as  little  variety  of  versiors  in  telling 
any  true  sea  story  as  there  is  in  a  log  book,  cr  in  "The 
Flying  Dutchman  :  "  literatim  fidelity  is,  with  a  sailor,  a 
point  at  once  of  religious  '"-^ith  and  worldly  honor.  The 
close  of  the  story  was  —  that  after,  suppose,  ten  or  twelve 
minutes  of  hacking  and  hewing,  a  horrid  crash  was  heard, 
announcing  that  the  tree,  if  tree  it  were,  that  never  yet  wa? 
23 


854  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

made  visible  to  daylight  search,  had  yielded  to  the  old 
woodman''s  persecution.  It  was  exactly  the  crash,  so  familiar 
to  many  ears  on  board  the  neighboring  vessels,  which  ex- 
presses the  harsh  tearing  asunder  of  the  fibres,  caused  by 
the  weight  of  the  trunk  in  falling  ;  beginning  slowly,  in- 
creasing rapidly,  and  terminating  in  one  rush  of  I'ending. 
This  over,  —  one  tree  felled  "  towards  his  winter  store,"  — 
there  was  an  interval  ;  man  must  have  rest ;  and  the  ol  1 
woodman,  after  working  for  more  than  a  century,  must  want 
repose.  Time  enough  to  begin  again  after  a  quarter  of  an 
hour's  relaxation.  Sure  enough,  in  that  space  of  time, 
again  began,  in  the  words  of  Comus,  "  the  wonted  roar 
amid  the  woods."  Agam  the  blows  became  quicker,  as  the 
catastrophe  drew  nearer;  again  the  final  crash  resounded  ; 
and  again  the  mighty  echoes  travelled  through  the  solitary 
forests,  and  were  taken  up  by  all  the  islands  near  and  far, 
like  Joanna's  laugh  amongst  the  Westmoreland  hills,  to  the 
astonishment  of  the  silent  ocean.  Yet,  wherefore  should 
the  ocean  be  astonished  ?  —  he  that  had  heard  this  nightly 
tumult,  by  all  accounts,  for  more  than  a  century.  My 
brother,  however,  poor  Pink,  was  astonished,  in  good  ear- 
nest, being,  in  that  respect,  of  the  genus  attonitorum  ;  and 
as  often  as  the  gentlemen  pirates  steered  their  course  for 
the  Gallapagos,  he  would  sink  in  spirit  before  the  trials  he 
might  be  summoned  to  face.  No  second  person  was  ever 
put  on  shore  with  Pink,  lest  poor  Pink  and  he  might  become 
jovial  over  the  liquor,  and  the  chronometers  be  broken  or 
neglected  ;  for  a  considerable  quantity  of  spirits  was  ne- 
cessarily landed,  as  well  as  of  provisions,  because  some- 
times a  sudden  change  of  weather,  or  the  sudden  ap- 
pearance of  a  suspicious  sail,  might  draw  the  ship  off"  the 
island  for  a  fortnight.  My  brother  could  have  pleaded  his 
fears  without  shame  ;  but  he  had  a  character  to  maintain 
with  the  sailors  :  he  was  respected  equally  for  his  seaman- 


MY    BROTHER.  355 

ship  and  his  shipmanship.*  By  the  way,  when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  one  half  of  a  sailor's  professional  science  refers 
liim  to  the  stars,  (though  it  is  true  the  otlier  half  refers  him 
to  the  sails  and  shrouds  of  a  ship,)  just  as,  in  geodesical 
operations,  one  part  is  referred  to  heaven  and  one  to  earth, 
when  this  is  considered,  another  argument  arises  for  the 
superstition  of  sailors,  so  far  as  it  is  astrological.  They 
who  know  (but  know  the  on  without  knowning  the  <5(«  n) 
that  the  stars  have  much  to  do  in  guiding  their  own  move- 
ments, which  are  yet  so  far  from  the  stars,  and,  to  all 
appearance,  so  little  connected  with  them,  may  be  excused 
for  supposing  that  the  stars  are  connected  astrologically 
with  human  destinies.  But  this  by  the  way.  The  sailors, 
looking  to  Pink's  double  skill,  and  to  his  experience  on  shore, 
(more  astonishing  than  all  beside,  being  experience  gath- 
ered amongst  ghosts,)  expressed  an  admiration  which,  to 
one  who  was  also  a  sailor,  had  too  genial  a  sound  to  be 
sacrificed,  if  it  could  be  maintained  at  any  price.  There- 
fore it  was  that  Pink  still  clung,  in  spite  of  his  terrors,  to 
his  shore  appointment.  But  hard  was  his  trial  ;  and  many 
a  time  has  he  described  to   me  one  effect  of  it,  when  too 

*  "  Seamanship  and  shipmanship."  —  These  are  ;  vo  functions  of  a 
sailor  seldom  separated  in  the  mind  of  a  landsman.  The  conducting 
a  ship  (causing  her  to  cZioose  a  right  path)  through  the  ocean;  that 
is  one  thing.  Then  there  is  the  management  of  the  ship  within  her- 
self, the  trimming  of  her  sails,  &c.,  (causing  her  to  keep  the  line 
chosen:)  that  is  another  tiling.  The  first  is  called  seamanship;  the 
second  mif/fit  be  called  shipmanship,  but  is,  I  believe,  called  naviga- 
tion. They  are  perfectly  distinct ;  one  man  rarely  has  both  in  per- 
fection. Both  may  be  illustrated  from  the  rudder.  The  question  is, 
suppose  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  to  steer  for  India:  trust  the 
rudder  to  him,  as  a  seaman,  who  knows  the  passage  whetlier  within 
or  without  Madagascar.  The  question  is  to  avoid  a  sunk  rock: 
trust  the  rudder  to  him,  as  a  navigator,  who  understands  the  art  of 
steering  to  a  nicety. 


356  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

long  continued,  or  combined  with  darkness  too  intense  The 
woodcutter  would  begin  his  operations  soon  after  the  sun 
had  set ;  but  uniformly,  at  that  time,  his  noise  was  less. 
Three  hours  after  sunset  it  had  increased  ;  and  generally 
at  midnight  it  was  greatest,  but  not  always.  Sometimes 
the  case  varied  thus  far :  that  it  greatly  increased  towards 
three  or  four  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  and,  as  the  sound 
grew  louder,  and  thereby  seemed  to  draw  nearer,  poor  Pink\» 
ghostly  panic  grew  insupportable  ;  and  he  absolutely  crepx 
from  his  pavilion,  and  its  luxurious  comforts,  to  a  point  oi 
rock  —  a  promontory — about  half  a  mile  off,  from  which 
he  could  see  the  ship.  The  mere  sight  of  a  human  abode, 
though  an  abode  of  ruffians,  comforted  his  panic.  With 
the  approach  of  daylight,  the  mysterious  sounds  ceased. 
Cockcrow  there  happened  to  be  none,  in  those  islands  of 
the  Gallapagos,  or  none  in  that  particular  island  ;  though 
many  cocks  are  heard  crowing  in  the  woods  of  America, 
and  these,  perhaps,  might  be  caught  by  spiritual  senses  ; 
or  the  woodcutter  may  be  supposed,  upon  Hamlet's  prin- 
ciple, either  scenting  the  morning  air,  or  catching  the 
sounds  of  Christian  matin  bells,  from  some  dim  convent,  in 
the  depth  of  American  forests.  However,  so  it  was ;  the 
woodcutter's  axe  began  to  intermit  about  the  earliest  ap- 
proach of  dawn  ;  and,  as  light  strengthened,  it  ceased 
entirely.  At  nine,  ten,  or  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon 
the  whole  appeared  to  have  been  a  delusion ;  but  towards 
sunset  it  revived  in  credit ;  during  twilight  it  strengthened  ; 
and,  very  soon  afterwards,  superstitious  panic  was  again 
seated  on  her  throne.  Such  were  the  fluctuations  of  the 
case.  Meantime,  Pink,  sitting  on  his  promontory  in  early 
dawn,  and  consoling  his  terrors  by  looking  away  from  the 
mighty  woods  to  the  tranquil  ship,  on  board  of  which  (in 
spite  of  her  secret  black  flag)  the  whole  crew,  murderers 
and  all,  were  sleeping  peacefully — he,  a  beautiful  English 


MY   BROTHER.  357 

boy,  chased  away  to  the  antipodes  from  one  early  home 
by  his  sense  of  wounded  honor,  and  from  his  immediate 
home  by  superstitious  fear,  recalled  to  my  mind  an  image 
and  a  situation  that  had  been  beautifully  sketched  by  Miss 
Bannerman  in  "  Basil,"  one  of  the  striking  (though,  to 
rapid  readers,  somewhat  unintelligible)  metrical  tales  pub- 
lished early  in  this  century,  entitled  "  Tales  of  Supersti- 
tion and  Chivalry."  Basil  is  a  "  rude  sea  boy,"  desolate 
and  neglected  from  infancy,  but  with  feelings  profound 
from  nature,  and  fed  by  solitude.  He  dwells  alone  in  a 
rocky  cave  ;  but,  in  consequence  of  some  supernatural 
terrors  connected  with  a  murder,  arising  in  some  way  (not 
very  clearly  made  out)  to  trouble  the  repose  of  his  home, 
he  leaves  it  in  horror,  and  rushes  in  the  gray  dawn  to  the 
seaside  rocks  ;  seated  on  which,  he  draws  a  sort  of  con- 
solation for  his  terrors,  or  of  sympathy  with  his  wounded 
heart,  from  that  mimicry  of  life  which  goes  on  forever 
amongst  the  raving  waves. 

From  the  Gallapagos,  Pink  went  often  to  Juan  (or,  as  he 
chose  to  call  it,  after  Dampier  and  others,  John)  Fernan- 
dez. Very  lately,  (December,  1837,)  the  newspapers  of 
America  informed  us,  and  the  story  was  current  for  full 
nine  days,  that  this  fair  island  had  been  swallowed  up  by 
an  earthquake  ;  or,  at  least,  that  in  some  way  or  other  it  had 
disappeared.  Had  that  story  proved  true,  one  pleasant 
bower  would  have  perished,  raised  by  Pink  as  a  memorial 
expression  of  his  youthful  feelings  either  towards  De  Foe, 
or  his  visionary  creature,  Robinson  Crusoe  —  but  rather, 
perhaps,  towards  the  substantial  Alexander  Selkirk  ;  for  it 
was  raised  on  some  spot  known  or  reputed  by  tradition  to 
have  been  one  of  those  most  occupied  as  a  home  by  Selkirk 
I  say,  "  rather  towards  Alexander  Selkirk;"  for  there  is 
a  difficulty  to  the  judgment  in  associating  Robinson  Cru- 
soe with  this  lovely  island  of  the  Pacific,  and  a  difficulty 


358  ATTTOBIOGEAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

even  to  the  fancy.  Why,  it  is  hard  to  guess,  or  through 
what  perverse  contradiction  to  the  facts,  De  Foe  chose  to 
place  the  shipwreck  of  Robinson  Crusoe  upon  the  eastern 
side  of  the  American  continent.  Now,  not  only  was  thi? 
in  direct  opposition  to  the  realities  of  the  case  upon  which 
he  built,  as  first  reported  (I  believe)  by  Woodes  Rogers, 
from  the  log  book  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess, —  (a  privateer 
fitted  out,  to  the  best  of  my  remembrance,  by  the  Bristol 
merchants,  two  or  three  years  before  the  peace  of  Utrecht,) 
and  so  far  the  mind  of  any  man  acquainted  with  these 
circumstances  was  staggered,  in  attempting  to  associate 
this  eastern  wreck  of  Crusoe  with  this  western  island,  —  but 
a  worse  obstacle  than  that,  because  a  moral  one,  is  this, 
that,  by  thus  perversely  transferring  the  scene  from  the 
Pacific  to  the  Atlantic,  De  Foe  has  transferred  it  from  a 
quiet  and  sequestered  to  a  populous  and  troubled  sea,  —  the 
Fleet  Street  or  Cheopside  of  the  navigating  world,  the 
great  throughfare  of  nations,  —  and  thus  has  prejudiced  the 
moral  sense  and  the  fancy  against  his  fiction  still  more 
inevitably  than  his  judgment,  and  in  a  way  that  was  perfecly 
needless  ;  for  the  change  brought  along  with  it  no  shadow 
of  compensation. 

My  brother's  wild  adventures  amongst  these  desperate 
sea  rovers  were  afterwards  communicated  in  long  letters  to 
a  female  I'elative  ;  and,  even  as  letters,  apart  from  the  fear- 
ful burden  of  their  contents,  I  can  bear  witness  that'  they 
had  very  extraordinary  merit.  This,  in  fact,  was  the  happy 
I'esuU  of  writing  from  his  heart ;  feeling  profoundly  what 
ho  communicated,  and  anticipating  the  profoundest  sympa- 
thy with  all  that  he  uttered  from  her  whom  he  addressed. 
A  man  of  business,  who  opened  some  of  these  letters,  in 
his  character  of  agent  for  my  brother's  five  guardians,  and 
who  had  not  any  special  interest  in  the  affair,  assured  me 
that,  throughout  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  he  had  never 


MY    BROTHER.  359 

reaJ  any  tiling  so  affecting,  from  the  ficts  they  contained, 
and  from  the  sentiments  which  they  expressed  ;  above  all, 
the  yearning  for  that  England  which  he  remembered  as 
the  land  of  his  youthful  pleasures,  but  also  of  his  youthful 
degradations.  Three  of  the  guardians  were  present  at  the 
reading  of  these  letters,  and  were  all  affected  to  tears,  not- 
withstanding they  had  been  irritated  to  the  uttermost  by  the 
course  whicli  both  myself  and  my  brother  had  pursued — a 
course  which  seemed  to  argue  some  defect  of  judgment,  or 
of  reasonable  kindness,  in  themselves.  These  letters,  I 
hope,  are  still  preserved,  though  they  have  been  long  re- 
moved from  my  control.  Thinking  of  them,  and  their  ex- 
traordinary merit,  I  have  often  been  led  to  believe  that  every 
post  town  (and  many  times  in  the  course  of  a  month) 
carries  out  numbers  of  beautifully-written  letters,  and  more 
from  women  than  from  men ;  not  that  men  are  to  be  sup- 
posed less  capable  of  writing  good  letters,  —  and,  in  fact, 
amongst  all  the  celebrated  letter  writers  of  past  or  present 
times,  a  large  overbalance  happens  to  have  been  men, —  but 
that  more  frequently  women  write  from  their  hearts  ;  and 
the  very  same  cause  operates  to  make  female  letters  good 
which  operated  at  one  period  to  make  the  diction  of  Roman 
ladies  more  pure  than  that  of  orators  or  professional  cuUi- 
vators  of  the  Roman  language  —  and  which,  at  another 
period,  in  the  Byzantine  court,  operated  to  preserve  the 
purity  of  the  mother  idiom  within  the  nurseries  and  the 
female  drawing  rooms  of  the  palace,  whilst  it  was  corrupt- 
ed in  the  forensic  standards  and  the  academic  —  in  the 
standards  of  the  pul|)it  and  the  throne. 

With  respect  to  Pink's  yearning  for  England,  that  had 
been  partially  gratified  in  some  part  of  his  long  exile  : 
twice,  as  we  learned  long  afterwards,  he  had  landed  in 
England  ;  but  such  was  his  haughty  adherence  to  his  pur- 
pose, and   such   liis  consequent   terror  of  being  discovered 


360  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

and  reclaimed  by  his  guardians,  that  he  never  attempted  to 
communicate  with  any  of  his  brothers  or  sisters.  There 
he  was  wrong ;  me  they  should  have  cut  to  pieces  before  I 
would  have  betrayed  him.  I,  like  him,  had  been  an  obsti- 
nate recusant  to  what  I  viewed  as  unjust  pretensions  of 
authority  ;  and,  having  been  the  first  to  raise  the  standard 
of  revolt,  had  been  taxed  by  my  guardians  with  having 
seduced  Pink  by  my  example.  But  that  was  untrue  ;  Pink 
acted  for  himself.  However,  he  could  know  little  of  all 
this ;  and  he  traversed  England  twice,  without  making 
an  overture  towards  any  communication  with  his  friends. 
Two  circumstances  of  these  journeys  he  used  to  mention  ; 
both  were  from  the  port  of  London  (for  he  never  contem- 
plated London  but  as  a  port)  to  Liverpool ;  or,  thus  far  ] 
may  be  wrong,  that  one  of  the  two  might  be  (in  the  return 
order)  from  Liverpool  to  London.  On  the  first  of  these 
journeys,  his  route  lay  through  Coventry ;  on  the  other, 
through  Oxford  and  Birmingham.  In  neither  case  had  he 
started  with  much  money;  and  he  was  going  to  have  retired 
from  the  coach  at  the  place  of  supping  on  the  first  night, 
(the  journey  then  occupying  two  entire  days  and  two 
entire  nights,)  when  the  passengers  insisted  on  paying  for 
him  :  that  was  a  tribute  to  his  beauty  —  not  yet  extinct. 
He  mentioned  this  part  of  his  adventures  somewhat  shyly, 
whilst  going  over  them  with  a  sailor's  literal  accuracy  ; 
though,  as  a  record  belonging  to  what  he  viewed  as  child- 
ish years,  he  had  ceased  to  care  about  it  On  the  other 
journey  his  experience  was  different,  but  equally  testified 
to  the  spirit  of  kindness  that  is  every  where  abroad.  He 
had  no  money,  on  this  occasion,  that  could  purchase  even 
a  momentary  lift  by  a  stage  coach  :  as  a  pedestrian,  he  haa 
travelled  down  to  Oxford,  occupying  two  days  in  the  fifty- 
four  or  fifty-six  miles  which  then  measured  the  road  from 
London,  and  sleeping   in  a  farmer's  barn,  without  leave 


MY    BROTHER.  361 

asked.  Wearied  and  depressed  in  spirits,  he  had  reached 
Oxford,  hopeless  of  any  aid,  and  with  a  deadly  shame  at 
the  thought  of  asking  it.  But,  somewliere  in  the  High 
Street,  —  and,  according  to  his  very  accurate  sailor's  de- 
scription of  tliat  noble  street,  it  must  have  been  about  the 
entrance  of  All  Souls'  College,  —  he  met  a  gentleman,  a 
gownsman,  who  (at  the  very  moment  of  turning  into  the 
college  gate)  looked  at  Pink  earnestly,  and  then  gave  him 
a  guinea,  saying  at  the  time,  "  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  in 
your  situation.  You  are  a  schoolboy,  and  you  have  run 
away  from  your  school.  Well,  I  was  once  in  your  situa- 
tion, and  I  pity  you."  The  kind  gownsman,  who  wore  a 
velvet  cap  with  a  silk  gown,  and  must,  therefore,  have 
been  what  in  Oxford  is  called  a  gentleman  commoner,  gave 
him  an  address  at  some  college  or  other,  (Magdalen,  he 
fancied,  in  after  years,)  where  he  instructed  him  to  call 
before  he  quitted  Oxford.  Had  Pink  done  this,  and  had  he 
frankly  communicated  his  whole  story,  very  probably  he 
would  have  received,  not  assistance  merely,  but  the  best 
advice  for  guiding  his  future  motions.  His  reason  for  not 
keeping  the  appointment  was  simply  that  he  was  nervously 
shy,  and,  above  all  things,  jealous  of  being  entrapped  by 
insidious  kindness  into  revelations  that  might  prove  danger- 
ously circumstantial.  Oxford  had  a  mayor  ;  Oxford  had  a 
corporation  ;  Oxford  had  Greek  Testaments  past  all  count- 
ing ;  and  so,  remembering  past  experiences.  Pink  held  it 
to  be  the  wisest  counsel  that  he  should  pursue  his  route  on 
foot  to  Liverpool.  That  guinea,  however,  he  used  to  say, 
saved  him  from  despair. 

One  circumstance  affected  me  in  this  part  of  Pink's 
story.  I  was  a  student  in  Oxford  at  that  time.  By  com- 
paring dates,  there  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  I,  who  held 
my  guardians  in  abhorrence,  and,' above  all  things,  admired 
mv  brother  for  his  conduct,  might  have  I'escued  him  at  this 


362  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

point  of  his  youthful  trials,  four  years  before  the  fortunate 
catastrophe  of  his  case,  from  the  calamities  which  awaited 
him.  This  is  felt  generally  to  be  the  most  distressing  form 
of  human  blindness  —  the  case  when  accident  brings  two 
fraternal  hearts,  yearning  for  reunion,  into  almost  touching 
neighborhood,  and  then,  in  a  moment  after,  by  the  differ- 
eni^e,  perhaps,  of  three  inches  in  space,  or  three  seconds  in 
time,  will  separate  them  again,  unconscious  of  their  brief 
neighborhood,  perhaps  forever.  In  the  present  case,  how- 
ever, it  may  be  doubted  whether  this  unconscious  rencontre 
and  unconscious  parting  in  Oxford  ought  to  be  viewed  as 
a  misfortune.  Pink,  it  is  true,  endured  years  of  suffering, 
four,  at  least,  that  might  have  been  saved  by  this  seasonable 
rencontre  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  by  travelling  through  his 
misfortunes  with  unabated  spirit,  and  to  their  natural  end, 
he  won  experience  and  distinctions  that  else  he  would  have 
missed.     His  further  history  was  briefly  this:  — 

Somewhere  in  the  River  of  Plate  he  had  effected  his 
escape  from  the  pirates;  and  a  long  time  after,  in  1807,  I 
believe,  (1  write  without  books  to  consult,)  he  joined  the 
storming  party  of  the  English  at  Monte  Video.  Here  he 
happened  fortunately  to  fall  under  the  eye  of  Sir  Home 
Popham  ;  and  Sir  Home  forthwith  rated  my  brother  as  a 
midshipman  on  board  his  own  ship,  which  was  at  that  time, 
I  think,  a  fifty-gun  ship  —  the  Diadem.  Thus,  by  merits 
of  the  most  appropriate  kind,  and  without  one  particle  of 
interest,  my  brother  passed  into  the  royal  navy.  His 
nautical  accomplishments  were  now  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance to  him  ;  and,  as  often  as  he  shifted  his  ship,  which 
(to  say  the  truth)  was  far  too  often,  —  for  his  temper  was 
fickle  and  delighting  in  change,  —  so  often  these  accom- 
plishments were  made  the  basis  of  very  earnest  eulogy.  I 
have  read  i  vast  heap  of  certificates  vouching  for  Pink's 
qualifications  as  a  sailor  in  the  highest  terms,  and  from 


MY    BROTHER.  363 

several  of  the  most  distinguislied  officers  in  the  service. 
Early  in  his  career  as  a  midshipman,  lie  suflercd  a  morti- 
fying interruption  of  the  active  life  which  had  long  since 
become  essential  to  his  comfort.  He  had  contrived  to  get 
appointed  on  board  a  fire  ship,  the  Prometheus,  (chiefly 
with  a  wish  to  enlarge  his  experience  by  this  variety  of 
naval  warfare,)  at  the  time  of  the  last  Copenhagen  expedi- 
tion, and  he  obtained  his  wish  ;  for  the  Prometheus  had  a 
very  distinguished  station  assigned  her  on  the  great  night 
of  bombardment,  and  from  her  decks,  1  believe,  was  made 
almost  the  first  effectual  trial  of  the  Congreve  rockets. 
Soon  after  the  Danish  capital  had  fallen,  and  whilst  the 
Prometheus  was  still  cruising  in  the  Baltic,  Pink,  in  com- 
pany with  the  purser  of  his  ship,  landed  on  the  coast  of 
Jutland,  for  the  purpose  of  a  morning's  sporting.  It  seems 
strange  that  this  should  have  been  allowed  upon  a  hostile 
shore  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  not  allowed,  but  might  have 
been  a  thoughtless  abuse  of  some  other  mission  shore- 
wards.  So  it  was,  unfortunately ;  and  one  at  least  of  the 
two  sailors  had  reason  to  rue  the  sporting  of  that  day  for 
eighteen  long  months  of  captivity.  They  were  perfectly 
unacquainted  with  the  localities,  but  conceived  themselves 
able  at  any  time  to  make  good  their  retreat  to  the  boat,  by 
means  of  fleet  heels,  and  arms  sufficient  to  deal  with  any 
opposition  of  the  sort  they  apprehended.  Venturing,  how- 
ever, too  far  into  the  country,  they  became  suddenly  aware 
of  certain  sentinels,  posted  expressly  for  the  benefit  of 
chance  English  visitors.  These  men  did  not  pursue,  but 
they  did  worse,  for  they  fired  signal  shots  ;  and,  by  the 
time  o\K  two  thoughtless  Jack  tars  had  reached  the  shore, 
they  saw  a  detachment  of  Danish  cavalry  trotting  their 
horses  pretty  coolly  down  in  a  direction  for  the  boat. 
Feeling  confident  of  their  power  to  keep  ahead  of  the 
pi  rsuit,  the  sailors  amused  themselves  with  various  sallies 


364  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

of  nautical  wit ;  and  Pink,  in  particular,  was  just  telling 
them  to  present  bis  dutiful  respects  to  the  crown  prince, 
and  assure  him  that,  but  for  this  lubberly  interruption,  he 
trusted  to  have  improved  his  royal  dinner  by  a  brace  of 
birds,  when  —  O  sight  of  blank  confusion  !  —  all  at  once 
they  became  aware  that  between  themselves  and  their 
boat  lay  a  perfect  network  of  streams,  deep  watery  holes, 
requiring  both  time  and  local  knowledge  to  unravel.  The 
purser  hit  upon  a  course  which  enabled  him  to  regain  the 
boat ;  but  I  am  not  sure  whether  he  also  was  not  captured. 
Poor  Pink  was,  at  all  events  ;  and,  through  seventeen  or 
eighteen  months,  bewailed  this  boyish  imprudence.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  there  was  an  exchange  of  prisoners, 
and  he  was  again  serving  on  board  various  and  splendid 
frigates.  Wyborg,  in  Jutland,  was  the  seat  of  his  Danish 
captivity ;  and  such  was  the  amiableness  of  the  Danish 
character,  that,  except  for  the  loss  of  his  time,  to  one  who 
was  aspiring  to  distinction  and  professional  honor,  none 
of  the  prisoners  who  were  on  parole  could  have  had  much 
reason  for  complaint.  The  street  mob,  excusably  irritated 
with  England  at  that  time,  (for,  without  entering  on  the 
question  of  right  or  of  expedience  as  regarded  that  war, 
it  is  notorious  that  such  arguments  as  we  had  for  our 
unannounced  hostilities  could  not  be  pleaded  openly  by  the 
English  cabinet,  for  fear  of  compromising  our  private 
friend  and  informant,  the  King  of  Sweden,)  the  mob,  there- 
fore, were  rough  in  their  treatment  of  the  British  prisoners  : 
at  night,  they  would  pelt  them  with  stones ;  and  here  and 
there  some  honest  burgher,  who  might  have  suffered  griev- 
ously in  his  property,  or  in  the  person  of  his  nearest 
friends,  by  the  ruin  inflicted  upon  the  Danish  commercial 
shipping,  or  by  the  dreadful  havoc  made  in  Zealand,  would 
show  something  of  the  same  bitter  spirit.  But  the  great 
body  of  the  richer  and  more  educated  inhabitants  showed 


MY    BROTHER.  365 

the  most  hospitable  attention  to  all  who  justified  that  sort 
of  notice  by  their  conduct.  And  their  remembrance  of 
these  English  friendships  was  not  fugitive  ;  for,  through 
long  years  after  my  brother's  death,  1  used  to  receive  let- 
ters, written  in  the  Danish,  (a  language  which  I  had  at- 
tained in  the  course  of  my  studies,  and  which  I  have  since 
endeavored  to  turn  to  account  in  a  public  journal,  for  some 
useful  purposes  of  research,)  from  young  men  as  well  as 
women  in  Jutland  —  letters  couched  in  the  most  friendly 
terms,  and  recalling  to  his  remembrance  scenes  and  inci- 
dents which  sufficiently  proved  the  terms  of  fraternal 
affection  upon  which  he  had  lived  amongst  these  public 
enemies ;  and  some  of  them  I  have  preserved  to  this  day, 
as  memorials  that  do  honor,  on 'different  considerations,  to 
both  parties  alike.* 

*  For  this  little  parenthetical  record  of  my  brother's  early  history, 
the  exact  chronology  of  the  several  items  in  the  case  may  possible  be 
now  irrecoverable  ;  but  any  error  must  be  of  trivial  importance.  His 
two  pedestrian  journeys  between  London  and  Liverpool  occurred,  I 
believe,  in  the  same  year  —  viz.,  after  tlie  death  of  the  friendly  captain, 
and  during  the  last  /isit  of  his  ship  to  England.  The  capture  of  Pink 
by  the  pirates  took  place  after  the  ship's  return  to  the  Pacific. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
PREMATURE   MANHOOD. 

My  last  two  chapters,  very  slenderly  connected  with 
Birmingham,  are  yet  made  to  rise  out  of  it ;  the  one  out 
of  Birmingham's  own  relation  to  the  topic  concerned,  '^viz., 
Travelling,)  and  the  other  (viz.,  3Iy  Brother)  out  of 
its  relation  to  all  possible  times  in  my  earlier  life,  and, 
therefore,  why  not  to  all  possible  places  ?  Any  where  in- 
troduced, the  chapter  was  partially  out  of  its  place ;  as 
well  then  to  introduce  it  in  Birmingham  as  elsewhere. 
Somewhat  arbitrary  episodes,  therefore,  are  these  two 
last  chapters ;  yet  still  endurable  as  occurring  in  a  work 
confessedly  rambling,  and  whose  very  duty  lies  in  the 
pleasant  paths  of  vagrancy.  Pretending  only  to  amuse  my 
reader,  or  pretending  chiefly  to  that,  however  much  I  may 
have  sought,  or  shall  seek,  to  interest  him  occasionally 
through  his  profounder  affections,  I  enjoy  a  privilege  of 
neglecting  harsher  logic,  and  connecting  the  separate  sec- 
tions of  these  sketches,  not  by  ropes  and  cables,  but  by 
threads  of  aerial  gossamer. 

This  present  chapter,  it  may  seem,  promises  something 
of  the  same  episodical  or  parenthetic  character.  But  in 
reality  it  does  not.  1  am  now  returning  into  the  main  cur- 
rent of  my  narrative,  although  I  may  need  to  linger  for  a 

366 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  3G7 

moment  upon  a  past  anecdote.  I  have  mentioned  already, 
that,  on  inquiring  at  the  Birmingham  post  office  for  a  letter 
addressed  to  myself,  I  found  one  directing  me  to  join  my 
sister  Mary  at  Laxton,  a  scat  of  Lord  Curhery's  in  North- 
amptonshire, and  giving  mc  to  understand,  that,  during  my 
residence  at  this  place,  some  fixed  resolution  would  be 
taken  and  announced  to  me  in  regard  to  the  future  disposal 
of  my  time,  during  the  two  or  three  years  before  I  should 
be  old  enough  on  the  English  system  for  matriculating  at 
Oxford  or  Cambridge.  In  the  poor  countries  of  Europe, 
where  they  cannot  afford  double  sets  of  scholastic  estab- 
lishments,—  having,  therefore,  no  splendid  schools,  such  as 
are,  in  fact,  peculiar  to  England,  —  they  are  compelled  to 
throw  the  duties  of  such  schools  upon  their  universities ; 
and  consequently  you  see  boys  of  thirteen  and  fourteen,  or 
even  younger,  crowding  such  institutions,  which,  in  fact, 
they  ruin  for  all  higher  functions.  But  England,  whose 
regal  establishments  of  both  classes  emancipate  her  from 
this  dependency,  sends  her  young  men  to  college  not  until 
they  have  ceased  to  be  boys  —  not  earlier,  therefore,  than 
eighteen. 

But  when,  by  what  test,  by  what  indication,  does  man- 
hood commence  ?  Physically  by  one  criterion,  legally  by 
another,  morally  by  a  tliird,  intellectually  by  a  fourth  — 
and  all  indefinite.  Equator,  absolute  equator,  there  is 
none.  Between  the  two  spheres  of  youth  and  age,  perfect 
and  imperfect  manhood,  as  in  all  analogous  cases,  there  is 
no  strict  line  of  bisection.  The  change  is  a  large  process, 
accomplished  within  a  large  and  corresponding  space ; 
having,  perhaps,  some  central  or  equatorial  line,  but  lying, 
like  that  of  our  earth,  between  certain  tropics,  or  limits 
widely  separated.  This  intertropical  region  may,  and 
generally  does,  cover  a  number  of  years  ;  and,  therefore,  it 
is  hard  to  say,  even  for  an  assigned  case,  by  any  tolerable 


368  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

approximation,  at  what  precise  era  it  would  be  reasonable 
to  describe  the  individual  as  having  ceased  to  be  a  boy, 
and  as  having  attained  his  inauguration  as  a  man.  Physi- 
cally, we  know  that  there  is  a  very  large  latitude  of  difTer- 
ences,  in  the  periods  of  human  maturity,  not  merely 
between  individual  and  individual,  but  also  between  nation 
and  nation ;  differences  so  great,  that,  in  some  southern 
regions  of  Asia,  we  hear  of  matrons  at  the  age  of  twelve. 
And  though,  as  Mr.  Sadler  rightly  insists,  a  romance  of 
exaggeration  has  been  built  upon  the  facts,  enough  remains 
behind  of  real  marvel  to  irritate  the  curiosity  of  the  physi- 
ologist as  to  its  efficient,  and,  perhaps,  of  the  philosopher 
as  to  its  final  cause.  Legally  and  politically,  that  is,  con- 
ventionally, the  differences  are  even  greater  on  a  compari- 
son of  nations  and  eras.  In  England  we  have  seen  senators 
of  mark  and  authority,  nay,  even  a  prime  minister,  the 
haughtiest,*  the  most  despotic,  and  the  most  irresponsible 
of  his  times,  at  an  age  which,  in  many  states,  both  ancient 
and  modern,  would  have  operated  as  a  ground  of  absolute 
challenge  to  the  candidate  for  offices  the  meanest.  Intel- 
lectually speaking,  again,  a  very  large  proportion  of  men 
ncL-cr  attain  maturity.  Nonage  is  their  final  destiny  ;  and 
manhood,  in  this  respect,  is  for  them  a  pure  idea.  Finally, 
as  regards  the  moral  development, —  by  which  I  mean  the 
whole  system  and  economy  of  their  love  and  hatred,  of 
their  admirations  and  contempts,  the  total  organization  of 
their  pleasures  and  their  pains,  —  hardly  any  of  our  species 
ever  attain  manhood.  It  would  be  unphilosophic  to  say 
that  intellects  of  the  highest  order  were,  or  could  be,  devel- 

*  "  J7ie  hanfjhfiest."  —  Whicli,  however,  is  very  doubtful.  Such, 
ccrtiiinly,  was  the  popuhir  hiipression.  But  people  who  knew  Mr. 
Pitt  intimately  have  always  ascribed  to  him  a  nature  the  most  amiable 
and  social,  under  an  unfortunate  reserve  of  manner.  Whilst,  on  the 
contrary,  Mr.  Fox,  ultra  democratic  in  his  principles  and  frank  in  his 
address,  was  repulsively  aristocratic  in  his  temper  and  sympathies. 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  369 

oped  fully  witliont  a  corresponding  development  of  the 
whole  nature.  But  of  such  intellects  there  do  not  appear 
above  two  or  three  in  a  thousand  years.  It  is  a  fact,  forced 
upon  one  by  the  whole  experience  of  life,  that  almost  all 
men  are  children,  more  or  less,  in  their  tastes  and  admira- 
tions. Were  it  not  for  man's  latent  tendencies,  —  were  it 
not  for  that  imperishable  grandeur  which  exists  by  way  of 
germ  and  ultimate  possibility  in  his  nature,  hidden  though 
it  is,  and  often  all  but  effaSed, —  how  unlimited  would  be 
the  contempt  amongst  all  the  wise  for  his  species !  and 
misanthropy  would,  but  for  the  angelic  ideal  buried  and 
imbruted  in  man's  sordid  race,  become  amongst  the  noble 
fixed,  absolute,  and  deliberately  cherished. 

But,  to  resume  my  question,  how,  under  so  variable  a 
standard,  both  natural  and  conventional,  of  every  thing 
almost  that  can  be  received  for  a  test  or  a  presumption  of 
manhood,  shall  we  seize  upon  any  characteristic  feature, 
sufficiently  universal  to  serve  a  practical  use,  as  a  criterion 
of  the  transition  from  the  childish  mind  to  the  dignity  (rela- 
tive dignity  at  least)  of  that  mind  which  belongs  to  conscious 
maturity.''  One  such  criterion,  and  one  only,  as  I  believe, 
there  is  —  all  others  are  variable  and  uncertain.  It  lies 
in  the  reverential  feeling,  sometimes  suddenly  developed, 
towards  woman,  and  the  idea  of  woman.  From  that  mo- 
ment when  women  cease  to  be  regarded  with  carelessness, 
and  when  the  ideal  of  womanhood,  in  its  total  pomp  of 
loveliness  and  purity,  dawns  like  some  vast  aurora  upon 
the  mind,  boyhood  has  ended  ;  childish  thoughts  and  incli- 
nations have  passed  away  forever ;  and  the  gravity  of 
manhood,  with  the  self-respecting  views  of  manhood,  have 
commenced. 

"  Mentemque  priorem 
Expulit.  atque  homincin  tcjto  sibi  cedere  jussit 
Pectore."  —  Lncaa. 
21 


370  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

These  feelings,  no  doubt,  depend  for  their  development  in 
part  upon  physical  causes ;  but  they  are  also  determined 
by  the  many  retarding  or  accelerating  forces  enveloped  in 
circumstances  of  position,  and  sometimes  in  pure  accident. 
For  myself,  I  remember  most  distinctly  the  very  day  —  the 
scene  and  its  accidents — when  that  mysterious  awe  fell 
upon  me  which  belongs  to  woman  in  her  ideal  portrait ; 
and  from  that  hour  a  profounder  gravity  colored  all  my 
thoughts,  and  a  "  beauty  still  more  beauteous"  was  lit  up 
for  me  in  this  aghating  world.  Lord  Westport  and  my- 
self had  been  on  a  visit  to  a  noble  family  about  fifty  miles 
from  Dublin  ;  and  we  were  returning  from  Tullamore  by  a 
public  passage  boat,  on  the  splendid  canal  which  connects 
that  place  with  the  metropolis.  To  avoid  attracting  an 
unpleasant  attention  to  ourselves  in  public  situations,  I  ob- 
served a  rule  of  never  addressing  Lord  Westport  by  his 
title:  but  it  so  happened  that  the  canal  carried  us  along  the 
margin  of  an  estate  belonging  to  the  Earl  (now  Marquis) 
of  Westmeath  ;  and,  on  turning  an  angle,  we  came  suddenly 
in  view  of  this  nobleman  taking  his  morning  lounge  in  the 
sun.  Somewhat  loftily  he  reconnoitred  the  miscellaneous 
party  of  clean  and  unclean  beasts,  crowded  on  the  deck  of 
our  ark,  ourselves  amongst  the  number,  whom  he  chal- 
lenged gayly  as  young  acquaintances  from  Dublin  ;  and 
my  friend  he  saluted  more  than  once  as  "  My  lord."  This 
accident  made  known  to  the  assembled  mob  of  our  fellow- 
travellers  Lord  Westport's  rank,  and  led  to  a  scene  rather 
too  broadly  exposing  the  spirit  of  this  world.  Herded 
together  on  the  deck  (or  roof  of  that  den  denominated  the 
'•'•stale  cabin")  stood  a  party  of  young  ladies,  headed  by 
their  governess.  In  the  cabin  below  was  mamma,  who  as 
yet  had  not  condescended  to  illuminate  our  circle,  for  she 
was  an  awful  personage  —  a  wit,  a  bluestocking,  (I  call 
her  by  the  name  then  current,)  and  a  leader  of  ton  in  Dub- 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  371 

lin  and  Belfast.  The  fact,  however,  that  a  young  lord,  and 
onn  of  great  expectations,  was  on  board,  brought  her  up. 
A  short  cross  examination  of  Lord  Westport's  French 
valet  had  confirmed  the  flying  report,  and  at  the  same 
time  (I  suppose)  put  her  in  possession  of  my  defect  in  all 
tliose  advantages  of  title,  fortune,  and  expectation  which  so 
brilliantly  distinguished  my  friend.  Her  admiration  of 
him,  and  her  contempt  for  myself,  were  equally  undis- 
guised. And  in  the  ring  which  she  soon  cleared  out  for 
public  exhibition,  she  made  us  both  fully  sensible  of  the 
very  equitable  stations  which  she  assigned  to  us  in  her 
regard.  She  was  neither  very  brilliant,  nor  altogether  a 
pretender,  but  might  be  described  as  a  showy  woman,  of 
slight  but  popular  accomplishments.  Any  woman,  how- 
ever, has  the  advantage  of  possessing  the  ear  of  any  com- 
pany ;  and  a  woman  of  forty,  with  such  tact  and  expe- 
rience as  she  will  naturally  have  gathered  in  a  talking 
practice  of  such  duration,  can  find  little  difficulty  in  mor- 
tifying a  boy,  or  sometimes,  perhaps,  in  tempting  him  to 
unfortunate  sallies  of  irritation.  Me  it  was  clear  that  she 
viewed  in  the  light  of  a  humble  friend,  or  what  is  known 
in  fashionable  life  by  the  humiliating  name  of  a  "  toad- 
eater."  Lord  Westport,  full  of  generosity  in  what  regarded 
his  own  pretensions,  and  who  never  had  violated  the  per- 
fect equality  which  reigned  in  our  deportment  to  each 
other,  colored  with  as  much  confusion  as  myself  at  her 
coarse  insinuations.  And,  in  reality,  our  ages  scarcely 
allowed  of  that  relation  which  she  supposed  to  exist  be- 
tween us.  Possibly,  she  did  not  suppose  it ;  but  it  is 
essential  to  the  wit  and  the  display  of  some  people  that  it 
should  have  a  foundation  in  malice.  A  victim  and  a 
sacrifice  are  indispensable  conditions  in  every  exhibition. 
In  such  a  case,  my  natural  sense  of  justice  would  generally 
have  armed    me   a   hundred  fold  for  retaliation  ;   but  at 


372  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC     SKETCHES. 

present,  chiefly,  perhaps,  because  I  had  no  effectua  ally,  and 
could  count  upon  no  sympathy  in  my  audience,  I  was  mor- 
tified beyond  the  power  of  retort,  and  became  a  passive 
butt  to  the  lady's  stinging  contumely  and  the  arrowy  sleet 
of  her  gay  rhetoric.  The  narrow  bounds  of  -our  deck 
made  it  not  easy  to  get  beyond  talking  range  ;  and  thus  it 
happened,  that  for  two  hours  I  stood  the  worst  of  this 
bright  lady's  feud.  At  length  the  tables  turned.  Two 
ladies  appeared  slowly  ascending  from  the  cabin,  both  in 
deepest  mourning,  but  else  as  different  in  aspect  as  sum- 
■mer  and  winter.  The  elder  was  the  Countess  of  Errol, 
then  mourning  an  afliliction  which  had  laid  her  life  desolate, 
and  admitted  of  no  human  consolation.  Heavier  grief  — 
grief  more  self-occupied  and  deaf  to  all  voice  of  sympa- 
thy—  I  have  not  happened  to  witness.  She  seemed 
scarcely  aware  of  our  presence,  except  it  were  by  placing 
herself  as  far  as  was  possible  from  the  annoyance  of  our 
odious  conversation.  The  circumstances  of  her  loss  are 
now  forgotten  ;  at  that  time  they  were  known  to  a  large 
circle  in  Bath  and  London,  and  I  violate  no  confidence  in 
reviewing  them.  Lord  Errol  had  been  privately  intrusted 
by  Mr.  Pitt  with  an  official  secret,  viz.,  the  outline  and 
principal  details  of  a  foreign  expedition  ;  in  which,  accord- 
ing to  Mr.  Pitt's  original  purpose,  his  lordship  was  to  have 
held  a  high  command.  In  a  moment  of  intoxication,  the 
earl  confided  this  secret  to  some  false  friend,  who  published 
the  communication  and  its  author.  Upon  this,  the  unhappy 
nobleman,  under  too  keen  a  sense  of  wounded  honor,  and 
perhaps  with  an  exaggerated  notion  of  the  evils  attached 
to  his  indiscretion,  destroyed  himself.  Months  had  passed 
since  that  calamity  when  we  met  his  widow ;  but  time 
appeared  to  have  done  nothing  in  mitigating  her  sorrow. 
The  younger  lady,  on  the  other  hard,  who  W'as  Lady 
Errol's   sister, Heavens !    what  t   spirit   of  joy  and 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  373 

festal  pleasure  radiated  from  her  eyes,  her  step,  her  voice, 
her  manner!  She  was  Irish,  and  the  very  impersonation 
of  innocent  gayety,  such  as  we  find  oftcner,  perhaps, 
amongst  Irish  women  than  those  of  any  other  country. 
Mourning,  I  have  said,  she  wore  ;  from  sisterly  considera- 
tion, the  deepest  mourning  ;  that  sole  expression  there  was 
about  her  of  gloom  or  solemn  feeling,  — 

"  But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May  time  and  the  cheerful  dawn." 

Odious  bluestocking*  of   Belfast   and    Dublin!    as   some 

*  I  have  sometimes  had  occasion  to  remark,  as  a  noticeable  phenom- 
enon of  our  present  times,  that  the  order  of  ladies  called  bluestockings, 
by  way  of  reproach,  has  become  totally  extinct  amongst  us,  except 
only  here  and  there  with  superannuated  dingers  to  obsolete  remem- 
brances. The  reason  of  this  change  is  interesting ;  and  I  do  not 
scruple  to  call  it  honorable  to  our  intellectual  progress.  In  the  last 
(but  still  more  in  the  penultimate)  generation,  any  tincture  of  litera- 
ture, of  liberal  curiosity  about  science,  or  of  ennobling  interest  in 
books,  carried  with  it  an  air  of  something  unsexual,  mannish,  and 
(as  it  was  treated  by  the  sycophantish  satirists  that  for  ever  humor 
the  prevailing  folly)  of  something  ludicrous.  This  mode  of  treatment 
was  possible  so  long  as  the  literary  class  of  ladies  formed  a  feeble 
minority.  But  now,  when  two  vast  peoples,  English  and  American, 
counting  between  them  forty-nine  millions,  when  the  leaders  of  tran- 
scendent civilization  (to  say  nothing  of  Germany  and  France)  behold 
their  entire  educated  class,  male  and  female  alike,  calling  out,  not  fo  ■ 
Paneni  et  circenses,  (Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread  and  our  games 
of  the  circus,)  but  for  Panem  et  litcras,  (Give  us  this  day  our  daily 
bread  and  literature.)  the  universality  of  the  call  has  swept  away  the 
very  name  of  hluestoching ;  the  very  possibility  of  the  ridicule  has 
been  undermined  by  stern  realities  ;  and  the  verbal  expression  of  the 
reproach  is  fast  becoming,  not  simply  obsolete,  but  even  unintelligible 
to  our  juniors.  By  the  way,  the  origin  of  this  term  bluestocking  has 
never  been  satisfactorily  accounted  for,  unless  the  reader  should  in- 
cline to  think  my  account  satisfactory;  I  incline  to  that  opinion  my- 
self.    Dr.  Bisset  (in  his  Life  of  Burke)   traces  it  idly  to  a  sobriquet 


374  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

would  call  you,  how  I  hated  you  up  to  that  moment !  half 
an  hour  after,  how  grateful  I  felt  for  the  hostility  which  had 
procured  me  such  an  alliance  !  One  minute  sufficed  to  put 
the  quick-witted  young  Irish  woman   in   possession  of  our 


imposed  by  Mrs.  Montagu,  and  the  literary  ladies  of  her  circle,  upon 
a  certain  obscure  Dr.  Stillingfleet,  who  was  the  sole  masculine  assist- 
ant at  their  literary  sittings  in  Portman  Square,  and  chose,  upon  some 
inexplicable  craze,  to  wear  blue  stockings.  The  translation,  however, 
of  this  name  from  the  doctor's  legs  to  the  ladies'  legs  is  still  unsolved. 
That  great  Iiiatus  needs  filling  up.  I,  therefore,  whether  erroneously 
or  not,  in  reviewing  a  German  historical  work  of  some  pretensions, 
where  this  problem  emerges,  rejected  the  Portman  Square  doctor 
altogether,  and  traced  the  term  to  an  old  Oxford  statute  —  one  of  the 
many  which  meddle  with  dress,  and  which  charges  it  as  a  point  of 
conscience  upon  loyal  scholastic  students  that  thej  shall  wear  ceru- 
lean socks.  Such  socks,  therefore,  indicated  scholasticism  :  worn  by 
females,  the}'  would  indicate  a  self-dedication  to  what  for  thehi  would 
be  regarded  as  pedantic  studies.  But,  says  an  objector,  no  rational 
female  uould  wear  cerulean  socks.  Perhaps  not,  female  taste  being 
too  good.  But  as  such  socks  would  symbolize  such  a  profession  of 
pedantry,  so,  inversely,  any  profession  of  pedantry,  by  whatever  signs 
expressed,  would  be  symbolized  reproachfully  by  the  imputation  of 
wearing  cerulean  socks.  It  classed  a  woman,  in  effect,  as  a  scholastic 
pedant.  Now,  however,  when  the  vast  diffusion  of  literature  as  a 
sort  of  daily  bread  has  made  all  ridicule  of  female  literary  culture  not 
less  ridiculous  than  would  be  the  attempt  to  ridicule  that  same  daily 
bread,  the  whole  phenomenon,  thing  and  word,  substance  and  shadow, 
is  melting  away  from  amongst  us.  Something  of  the  same  kind  has 
happened  in  the  history  of  silver  forks.  Forks  of  any  kind,  as  is  well 
known,  were  first  introduced  into  Italy;  thence  by  a  fantastic  (but, 
in  this  instance,  judicious)  English  traveller  immediately  (and  not 
msdiately  through  France)  were  introduced  into  England.  This  elegant 
revolution  occurred  about  240  years  ago ;  and  never  since  that  day 
have  there  been  wanting  English  protesters  against  the  infamy  of  eat- 
ing without  forks;  and  for  the  last  160  years,  at  least,  against  the 
paganism  of  using  steel  forks  ;  or,  2dly,  two-pronged  forks  ;  or,  3dly.  of 
cutting  the  knife  into  the  mouth.  At  least  120  years  ago,  the  Duchess 
of  Queensberry,  (Gay's  duchess,)  that  Icouiue  woman,  used  to  shriek 


PREMATUKE    MANHOOD.  375 

little  drama  and  the  several  parts  we  were  playing.  To 
look  was  to  understand,  to  wish  was  to  execute,  with  this 
ardent  child  of  nature.  Like  Spenser's  Bradamant,  with 
martial  scorn  she  couched  her  lance  on  the  side  of  the  party 
suffering  wrong.  Her  rank,  as  sister-in-law  to  the  constable 
of  Scotland,  gave  her  some  advantage  for  winning  a  favor- 
able audience  ;  and  throwing  her  segis  over  me,  she  extended 
that  benefit  to  myself.  Road  was  now  made  perforce  for 
me  also  ;  my  replies  were  no  longer  stifled  in  noise  and 
laughter.  Personalities  were  banished  ;  literature  was  ex- 
tensively discussed  ;  and  that  is  a  subject  which,  offering 
little  room  to  argument,  offers  the  widest  to  eloquent  dis- 

out,  on  seeing  a  hyperborean  squire  conveying  peas  to  his  abominable 
mouth  on  the  point  of  a  knife,  "  0,  stop  him,  stop  him !  that  man's 
going  to  commit  suicide."  This  anecdote  argues  silver  forks  as  exist- 
ing much  more  than  a  century  back,  else  the  squire  had  a  good  defence. 
Since  then,  in  fact,  about  the  time  of  the  French  revolution,  silver 
forks  have  been  recognized  as  not  less  indispensable  appendages  to  any 
elegant  dinner  table  than  silver  spoons;  and,  along  with  silver  forks, 
came  in  the  explosion  of  that  anti-Quceusberry  brutalism  which  forks 
first  superseded  —  viz  ,  the  fiendish  practice  of  introducing  the  knife 
between  the  lips.  But,  in  defiance  of  all  these  facts,  certain  select  hacks 
of  the  daily  press,  who  never  had  an  oj)portunity  of  seeing  a  civilized 
dinner,  and  fancying  that  their  own  obscene  modes  of  feeding  pre- 
vailed every  where,  got  up  the  name  of  the  Silver-fork  School,  (which 
should  have  indicated  tlie  school  of  decency,)  as  representing  some 
ideal  school  of  fantastic  or  ultra  refinement.  At  length,  however, 
when  cheap  counterfeits  of  silver  have  made  the  decent  four-pronged 
fork  cheaper  than,  the  two-pronged  steel  barbarism,  what  has  followed  1 
"Why,  this  —  that  the  universality  of  the  diffusion  has  made  it  hopeless 
any  longer  to  banter  it.  There  is,  therefore,  this  strict  analogy  be- 
tween "  the  silver  fork  "  reproach  and  "  the  bluestocking  "  reproach 
—  that  in  both  cases  alike  a  recognition,  gradually  becoming  universal, 
of  the  thing  itself,  as  a  social  necessity,  has  put  down  forever  all  idle 
attempts  to  throw  i-idicule  upon  it  —  upon  literature,  in  thf  one  case, 
as  a  most  appropriate  female  ornament ;  and  upon  silvei  forks,  on 
the  other,  as  an  element  of  social  decorum. 


376  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

play.  I  had  immense  reading;  vast  command  of  words, 
which  somewhat  diminished  as  ideas  and  doubts  multiplied  ; 
and,  speaking  no  longer  to  a  deaf  audience,  but  to  a  gener- 
ous and  indulgent  protectress,  I  threw  out,  as  from  a  cor- 
nucopia, my  illustrative  details  and  recollections ;  trivial 
enough,  perhaps,  as  I  might  now  think,  but  the  more  intel- 
ligible to  my  present  circle.  It  might  seem  too  much  the 
case  of  a  storm  in  a  slop  basin,  if  I  were  to  spend  any 
words  upon  the  revolution  which  ensued.  Suffice  it,  that  I 
remained  the  lion  of  that  company  which  had  previously 
been  most  insultingly  facetious  at  my  expense  ;  and  the 
intellectual  lady  finally  declared  the  air  of  the  deck  un- 
pleasant. 

Never,  until  this  hour,  had  I  thought  of  women  as  objects 
of  a  possible  interest  or  of  a  reverential  love.  I  had  known 
them  either  in  their  infirmities  and  their  unamiable  aspects, 
or  else  in  those  sterner  relations  which  made  them  objects 
of  ungenial  and  uncompanionable  feelings.  Now  first  it 
struck  me  that  life  might  owe  half  its  attractions  and  all  its 
graces  to  female  companionship.  Gazing,  perhaps,  with 
too  earnest  an  admiration  at  this  generous  and  spirited  young 
daughter  of  Ireland,  and  in  that  way  making  her  those  ac- 
knowledgments for  her  goodness  which  I  could  not  properly 
clothe  in  words,  I  was  aroused  to  a  sense  of  my  indecorum 

by  seeing  her  suddenly  blush.     I  believe  that  Miss  Bl 

interpreted  ray  admiration  rightly  ;  for  she  was  not  offended, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  when  not  at- 
tending to  her  sister,  conversed  almost  exclusively,  and  in 
d  confidential  way,  with  Lord  Westport  and  myself.  The 
whole,  in  fact,  of  this  conversation  must  have  convinced 
ner  that  I,  mere  boy  as  I  was,  (viz.,  about  fifteen,)  could  not 
have  presumed  to  direct  my  admiration  to  her,  a  fine  young 
woman  of  twenty,  in  any  other  character  than  that  of  a  gen- 
erous champion,  and  a  very  adroit  mistress  in  the  dazzling 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  377 

fence  of  colloquial  skirmish.  My  admiration  had,  in  reality, 
been  addressed  to  her  moral  qualities,  her  enthusiasm,  her 
spirit,  and  her  generosity.  Yet  that  blush,  evanescent  as  it 
was,  —  the  mere  possibility  that  I,  so  very  a  child,  should 
have  called  up  the  most  transitory  sense  of  bashfiilness  or 
confusion  upon  any  female  cheek,  first,  —  and  suddenly,  as 
with  a  flash  of  lightning,  penetrating  some  utter  darkness, 
illuminated  to  my  own  startled  consciousness,  never  again 
to  be  obscured,  the  pure  and  powerful  ideal  of  womanhood 
and  womanly  excellence.  This  was,  in  a  proper  sense,  a 
revelation ;  it  fixed  a  great  era  of  change  in  my  life  ;  and 
this  new-born  idea,  being  agreeable  to  the  uniform  tenden- 
cies of  my  own  nature,  —  that  is,  lofty  and  aspiring,  —  it 
governed  n)y  life  with  great  power,  and  with  most  salutary 
effects.  Ever  after,  throughout  the  period  of  youth,  I  was 
jealous  of  my  own  demeanor,  reserved  and  awe-struck,  in 
the  presence  of  women  ;  reverencing,  often,  not  so  much 
them  as  my  own  ideal  of  woman  latent  in  them.  For  I 
carried  about  with  me  the  idea,  to  which  often  I  seemed  to 
see  an  approximation,  of 

"  A  perfect  woman,  nohly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  to  command." 

And  from  this  day  I  was  an  altered  creature,  never  again 
relapsing  into  the  careless,  irreflective  mind  of  childhood. 

At  the  same  time  I  do  not  wish,  in  paying  my  homage  to 
the  other  sex,  and  in  glorifying  its  possible  power  over  ours, 
to  be  confounded  with  those  thoughtless  and  trivial  rheto- 
ricians who  flatter  woman  with  a  false  lip  worship  ;  and, 
like  Lord  Byron's  buccaneers,  hold  out  to  them  a  picture 
of  their  own  empire,  built  onh^  upon  sensual  or  upon  shad- 
owy excellences.  We  find  continually  a  false  enthusiasm, 
a  mere  bacchanalian  inebriation,  on  behalf  of  woman,  put 
forth  by  modern  verse  writers,  expressly  at  the  expense  of 


378  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCr^ES. 

the  otiier  sex,  as  though  woman  could  be  of  porcelaui,  whilst 
man  was  of  common  earthern  ware.  Even  the  testimonies  of 
Ledyard  and  Park  are  partly  false  (though  amiable)  tributes 
to  female  excellence ;  at  least  they  are  merely  one-sided 
truths  —  aspects  of  one  phasis,  and  under  a  peculiar  angle. 
For,  though  the  sexes  differ  characteristically,  yet  they 
never  fail  to  reflect  each  other;  nor  can  they  differ  as  to 
the  general  amount  of  development ;  never  yet  was  woman 
in  one  stage  of  elevation,  and  man  (of  the  same  commu- 
nity) in  another.  Thou,  therefore,  daughter  of  God  and 
man,  all-potent  woman  !  reverence  thy  own  ideal  ;  and  in 
the  wildest  of  the  homage  which  is  paid  to  thee,  as  also  in 
the  most  real  aspects  of  thy  wide  dominion,  I'ead  no  trophy 
of  idle  vanity,  but  a  silent  indication  of  the  possible  gran- 
deur enshrined  in  thy  nature  ;  which  realize  to  the  extent 
of  thy  power, — 

"  And  show  us  how  divine  a  thing 
A  woman  may  become." 

■  For  what  purpose  have  I  repeated  this  story  ?  The 
reader  may,  perhaps,  suppose  it  introductory  to  some  tale 
of  boyish  romantic  passion  for  some  female  idol  clothed 
with  imaginary  perfections.  But  in  that  case  he  will  be 
mistaken.  Nothing  of  the  kind  was  possible  to  me.  I 
was  preoccupied  by  other  passions.  Under  the  disease  — 
for  disease  it  was —  which  at  that  time  mastered  me,  one 
solitary  desire,  one  frenzy,  one  demoniac  fascination, 
stronger  than  the  fascinations  of  calenture,  brooded  over 
me  as  the  moon  over  the  tides  —  forcing  me  day  and  night 
into  speculations  upon  great  intellectual  problems,  many 
times  beyond  my  strength,  as  indeed  often  beyond  all 
human  strength,  but  not  the  less  provoking  me  to  pur- 
sue them.  As  a  prophet  in  days  of  old  had  no  power  to 
resist  the  voice  which,  from  hidden  worlds,  called  him  to  a 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  379 

mission,  sometimes,  perhaps,  revolting  to  his  human  sensi- 
bilities, as  he  must  deliver,  was  under  a  coercion  to  de- 
liver the  burning  word  that  spoke  within  his  heart, —  or  as 
a  ship  on  the  Indian  Ocean  cannot  seek  rest  by  anchoring, 
but  must  run  before  the  wrath  of  the  monsoon,  — such  in  its 
fury,  such  in  its  unrelentingness,  was  the  persecution  that 
overmastered  me.  School  tasks  under  these  circumstances, 
it  may  well  be  supposed,  had  become  a  torment  to  me. 
For  a  long  time  they  had  lost  even  that  slight  power  of 
stimulation  which  belongs  to  the  irritation  of  difficulty. 
Easy  and  simple  they  had  now  become  as  the  elementary 
lessons  of  childhood.  Not  that  it  is  possible  for  Greek 
studies,  if  pursued  with  unflinching  sincerity,  ever  to  fall 
so  far  into  the  rear  as  a  palcestra  for  exercising  both  strength 
and  skill ;  but,  in  a  school  where  the  exercises  are  pursued 
in  common  by  large  classes,  the  burden  must  be  adapted 
to  the  powers  of  the  weakest,  and  not  of  the  strongest. 
And,  apart  from  that  objection,  at  this  period,  the  hasty 
unfolding  of  far  difTerent  intellectual  interests  than  such 
as  belong  to  mere  literature  had,  for  a  time,  dimmed  in 
my  eyes  the  lustre  of  classical  studies,  pursued  at  whatso- 
ever depth  and  on  whatsoever  scale.  For  more  than  a 
year,  every  thing  connected  with  schools  and  the  business 
of  schools  had  been  growing  more  and  more  hateful  to  me. 
At  first,  however,  my  disgust  had  been  merely  the  disgust 
of  weariness  and  pride.  But  now,  at  this  crisis,  (for  crisis 
it  was  virtually  to  me,)  when  a  premature  development  of 
my  whole  mind  was  rushmg  in  like  a  cataract,  forcing 
channels  for  itself  and  for  the  new  tastes  which  it  intro- 
duced, my  disgust  was  no  longer  simply  intellectual,  but 
had  deepened  into  a  moral  sense  as  of  some  inner  dignity 
continually  violated.  Once  the  petty  round  of  school  tasks 
had  been  felt  as  a  molestalion  ;  but  now,  at  last,  as  a 
degradation.     Constant  conversation    with    grown-up    men 


380  AUTOBIOGKAPHIC  SKETCHES. 

for  the  last  half  year,  and  upon  topics  oftentimes  of  the 
gravest  order,  —  the  responsibility  that  had  always  in  some 
slight  degree  settled  upon  myself  since  I  had  become  the 
eldest  surviving  son  of  my  family,  but  of  late  much  more 
so  when  circumstances  had  thrown  me  as  an  English  stran- 
ger upon  the  society  of  distinguished  Irishmen,  —  more, 
however,  than  all  beside,  the  inevitable  rebound  and  counter- 
growth  of  internal  dignity  from  the  everlasting  commerce 
with  lofty  speculations,  these  agencies  in  constant  opera- 
tion had  iinbittered  my  school  disgust,  until  it  was  travel- 
ling fast  into  a  mania.  Precisely  at  this  culminating  point 
of  my  self-conflict  did  that  scene  occur  which  I  have  de- 
scribed with  Miss  Bl .     In  that  hour  another  element, 

which  assuredly  was  not  wanted,  fell  into  the  seething 
caldron  of  new-born  impulses,  that,  like  the  magic  caldron 
of  Medea,  was  now  transforming  me  into  a  new  creature. 
Tlien  first  and  suddenly  I  brought  powerfully  before  my- 
self the  change  which  was  worked  in  the  aspects  of  society 
by  the  presence  of  woman  —  woman,  pure,  thoughtful, 
noble,  coming  before  me  as  a  Pandora  crowned  with  per- 
fections. Right  over  against  this  ennobling  spectacle,  with 
equal  suddenness,  I  placed  the  odious  spectacle  of  school- 
boy society — no  matter  in  what  region  of  the  earth; 
schoolboy  society,  so  frivolous  in  the  matter  of  its  disputes, 
often  so  brutal  in  the  manner;  so  childish,  and  yet  so 
remote  from  simplicity  ;  so  foolishly  careless,  and  yet  so 
revoltingly  selfish  ;  dedicated  ostensibly  to  learning,  and 
yet  beyond  any  section  of  human  beings  so  conspicuously 
ignorant.  Was  it  indeed  that  heavenly  which  I  was  soon 
to  exchange  for  this  earthly  ?  It  seemed  to  mc,  when  con- 
templating the  possibility  that  I  could  yet  have  nearly 
three  years  to  pass  in  such  society  as  this,  that  I  heard 
some  irresistible  voice  saying,  Lay  aside  thy  fleshly  robes 
of  humanity,  and  enter  for  a  season  into  some  brutal  in- 
carnation. 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  381 

But  wliat  connection  had  this  painful  prospect  with  Lax- 
ton  ?  Why  should  it  press  upon  my  anxieties  in  approach- 
ing that  mansion,  more  than  it  had  done  at  Westport  ? 
Naturally  enough,  in  part,  because  every  day  brought  me 
nearer  to  the  horror  from  whicii  I  recoiled  :  my  return  to 
England  would  recall  the  attention  of  my  guardians  to  the 
question,  which  as  yet  had  slumbered  ;  and  the  knowledge 
that  I  had  reached  Northamptonshire  would  precipitate 
their  decision.  Obscurely,  besides,  through  a  hint  which 
had  reached  me,  I  guessed  what  this  decision  was  likely  to 
be,  and  it  took  the  very  worst  shape  it  could  have  taken. 
All  this  increased  my  agitation  from  hour  to  hour.  But  all 
this  was  quickened  and  barbed  by  the  certainty  of  so  im- 
mediately meeting  Lady  Carbery.  To  her  it  was,  and  to 
her  only,  that  I  could  look  for  any  useful  advice  or  any 
efTectual  aid.  She  over  my  mother,  as  in  turn  my  mother 
over  /(er,  exercised  considerable  influence  ;  whilst  my 
mother's  power  was  very  seldom  disturbed  by  the  other 
guardians.  The  mistress  of  Laxton  it  was,  therefore, 
whose  opinion  upon  the  case  would  virtually  be  decisive  ; 
since,  if  she  saw  no  reasonable  encouragement  to  any  con- 
test with  my  guardians,  I  felt  too  surely  that  my  own  un- 
countenanced  and  unaided  energies  drooped  too  much  for 
such  an  effort.  Who  Lady  Carbery  was,  I  will  explain  in 
my  next  chapter,  entitled  Laxton.  Meantime,  to  me,  indi- 
vidually, she  was  the  one  sole  friend  that  ever  I  could 
regard  as  entirely  fulfilling  the  offices  of  an  honorable 
friendship.  She  had  known  me  from  infancy  :  when  I 
was  in  my  first  year  of  life,  she,  an  orphan  and  a  great 
heiress,  was  in  her  tenth  or  eleventh  ;  and  on  her  occa- 
sional visits  to  "  the  Farm,"  (a  rustic  old  house  then  occu- 
pied by  my  father,)  I,  a  household  pet,  suffering  under  an 
ague,  which  lasted  from  my  first  year  to  my  third,  natu- 
rally fell  into  her  hands  as  a  sort  of  superior  toy,  a  toy 


382  AUTOBIOGRAPHIC    SKETCHES. 

that  could  breathe  and  talk.  Every  year  our  intimacy  had 
been  renewed,  until  her  marriage  interrupted  it.  But, 
after  no  very  long  interval,  when  iny  mother  had  trans- 
ferred her  household  to  Bath,  in  that  city  we  frequently 
met  again  ;  Lord  Carbery  liking  Bath  for  itself,  as  well  as 
for  its  easy  connection  with  London,  whilst  Lady  Carbery's 
health  was  supposed  to  benefit  by  the  waters.  Her  under- 
standing was  justly  reputed  a  fine  one  ;  but,  in  general,  it 
was  calculated  to  win  respect  rather  than  love,  for  it  was 
masculine  and  austere,  with  very  little  toleration  for  senti- 
ment or  romance.  But  to  myself  she  had  always  been 
indulgently  kind  ;  I  was  protected  in  her  regard,  beyond 
any  body's  power  to  dislodge  me,  by  her  childish  remem- 
brances ;  and  of  late  years  she  had  begun  to  entertain  the 
highest  opinion  of  my  intellectual  promises.  Whatever 
could  be  done  to  assist  my  views,  I  most  certainly  might 
count  upon  her  doing;  that  is  to  say,  within  the  limits  of 
her  conscientious  judgment  upon  the  propriety  of  my  own 
plans.  Having,  besides,  so  much  more  knowledge  of  the 
world  than  myself,  she  might  see  cause  to  dissent  widely 
from  my  own  view  of  what  was  expedient  as  well  as  what 
was  right ;  in  which  case  I  was  well  assured  that,  in  the 
midst  of  kindness  and  unaffected  sympathy,  she  would 
firmly  adhere  to  the  views  of  my  guardians.  In  any  cir- 
cumstances she  would  have  done  so.  But  at  present  a 
new  element  had  begun  to  mix  with  the  ordinary  influences 
which  governed  her  estimates  of  things:  she  had,  as  I 
knew  from  my  sister's  report,  become  I'eligious  ;  and  her 
new  opinions  were  of  a  gloomy  cast,  Calvinistic,  in  fact, 
and  tending  to  what  is  now  technically  known  in  England 
as  "Low  Church,"  or  "  Evangelical  Christianity."  These 
views,  being  adopted  in  a  great  measure  from  my  mother, 
were  naturally  the  same  as  my  mother's ;  so  that  I  could 
form  some  guess  as  to  the  general  spirit,  if  not  the  exact 


PREMATURE    MANHOOD.  383 

direction,  in  which  her  counsels  would  flow.  Tt  is  sirigular 
that,  until  this  time,  I  had  never  regarded  Lady  Carbery 
under  any  relation  whatever  to  female  intellectual  society. 
My  early  childish  knowledge  of  her  had  shut  out  that 
mode  of  viewing  her.  But  now,  suddenly,  under  the  new- 
born sympathies  awakened  by  the  scene  with  Miss  Bl , 

I  became  aware  of  the  distinguished  place  she  was  qualified 
to  iill  in  such  society.  In  that  Eden  —  for  such  it  had  now 
consciously  become  to  me  —  I  had  no  necessity  to  cultivate 
an  interest  or  solicit  an  admission  ;  already,  through  Lady 
Carbery 's  too  flattering  estimate  of  my  own  pretensions, 
and  through  old,  childish  memories,  I  held  the  most  distin- 
guished place.  This  Eden,  she  it  was  that  lighted  up  sud- 
denly to  my  new-born  powers  of  appreciation  in  all  its 
dreadful  points  of  contrast  with  the  killing  society  of 
schoolboys.  She  it  was,  fitted  to  be  the  glory  of  such  an 
Eden,  who  probably  would  assist  in  banishing  me  for  the 
present  to  the  wilderness  outside.  My  distress  of  mind 
was  inexpressible.  And,  in  the  midst  of  glittering  saloons, 
at  times  also  in  the  midst  of  society  the  most  fascinating, 
I  —  contemplating  the  idea  of  that  gloomy  academic  dun- 
geon to  which  for  three  long  years  I  anticipated  too  cer- 
tainly a  sentence  of  exile  —  felt  very  much  as  in  the 
middle  ages  must  have  felt  some  victim  of  evil  destmy, 
inheritor  of  a  false,  fleeting  prosperity,  that  suddenly,  in  a 
moment  of  time,  by  signs  blazing  out  past  all  concealment 
on  his  forehead,  was  detected  as  a  leper ;  and  in  that 
character,  as  a  public  nuisance  and  universal  horror,  was 
summoned  instantly  to  withdraw  from  society  ;  prince  or 
peasant,  was  indulged  with  no  time  for  preparation  or 
evasion  ;  and,  from  the  midst  of  any  society,  the  sweetest 
or  the  most  dazzling,  was  driven  violently  to  take  up  his 
abode  amidst  the  sorrow-haunted  chambers  of  a  lazar 
house. 


f 


D^=  Any  books  in  this  list  will  be  sent  free  of  postage,  on  receipt 
of  price. 


Boston,  135  Washington  Street, 
August,  1859. 

A   LIST   OF   BOOKS 


PUBLISHED    BY 


TICKNOR    AND    FIELDS 


Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Illustrated   Household   Edition   of   the  Waver- 

LEY   Novels.     In  portable  size,  16mo.  form.     Now  Complete. 
Price  75  cents  a  volume. 

The  paper  is  of  fine  quality;  the  stereotype  plates  are  not  old 
ones  repaired,  the  type  having  been  cast  expressly  for  this  edi- 
tion. The  Novels  are  illustrated  with  capital  steel  plates  en- 
graved in  the  best  manner,  after  drawings  and  paintings  by  the 
most  eminent  artists,  among  whom  are  Birket  Foster,  Darley, 
Billings,  Landseer,  Harvey,  and  Faed.  This  Edition  contains 
all  the  latest  notes  and  corrections  of  the  author,  a  Glossary  and 
Index ;  and  some  curious  additions,  especially  in  "  Guy  Man- 
nering"  and  the  "Bride  of  Lammei-moor ; "  being  the  fullest 
edition  of  the  Novels  ever  published.  TJie  notes  are  at  the  foot 
of  the  page, — a  great  convenience  to  the  reader. 


Any  of  the  following  Novels  sold  separate. 

Waverlet,  2  vols.  St.  Ronan's  Well,  2  vols. 

Gut  Mannerinq,  2  vols.  Redgauntlet,  2  vols. 

The  Antiquary,  2  vols.  The  Betrothed,  )  r,      . 

Rob  Roy,  2  vols.  The  Highland  Widow,    j  " 

Old  Mortality,  2  vols.  The  Talisman,  1 

Black  Dwarf,  )  o  _„]„   Two  Drovers,  | 

Legend  OF  Montrose,    )  "  My  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror,  }•  2  vols. 

Heart  op  Mid  Lothian,  2  vols.  The  Tapestried  Chamber,       | 

Bride  op  Lammermoor,  2  vols.    The  Laird's  Jock.  J 

IVANHOE,  2  vols.  Woodstock,  2  vols. 

The  Monastery,  2  vols.  The  Fair  Maid  op  Perth,  2  vols. 

The  Abbot,  2  vols.  Anne  of  Geierstein,  2  vols. 

Kenilworth,  2  vols.  Count  Robert  of  Paris,  2  vols. 

The  ['irate,  2  vols.  The  Surgeon's  Daughter,  ' 

The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  2  vols.  Castj,e  Dangerous,  J  2  vols 

Peveril  of  tIie  Peak,  2  vols.     Index  and  Glossary. 

QUENTIN   DURWARD,   2  VOls. 


A  Lia  of  Books  Publillied 


Thomas  De  Ouincey. 

CONFESSIOXS  OF    AN  ENGLISH    OpIUM-EaTER,  AND    SuS- 

piRiA  DE  Peofuxdis.     With  Portrait.    75  cents. 
Biographical  Essays.     75  cents. 

MlSCELLANEOtrS   EsSAYS.       75  CCntS. 

The  C^sars.     75  cents. 
Literary  Reminiscences.     2  vols.     Sl.50. 
Narrative  and  Miscellaneous  Papers.   2  vols.  $1.50 
Essays  on  the  Poets,  &c.     1  vol.    16mo.     75  cents. 
Historical  and  Critical  Essays.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
Autobiographic  Sketches.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Essays  on  Philosophical  Writers,  &c.     2  vols.  16mo. 

$1.50. 

Letters  to  a  Young  Man,  and  other  Papers.     1  vol. 

75  cents. 
Theological   Essays   and    other   Papers.      2   vols. 

$1.50. 

The  Note  Book.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
]\Iemorials  and  other  Papers.     2  vols.  16mo.    $1.50. 
The  Avenger  and  other  Papers.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Logic  of  Political  Economy,  and  other  Papers.     (In 

Press.) 


Alfred  Tennyson. 


Poetical  Works.    With  Portrait.    2  vols.    Cloth.    $2.00. 
Pocket  Edition  of  Poems  Complete.     75  cents. 
The  Princess.     Cloth.     50  cents. 
In  Memoriam.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
Maud,  and  other  Poems.     Cloth.     50  cents. 
The  True   and   the    False  :   Four    Idylls  of  the 
KixG.    A  new  volume.     Cloth.    75  cents. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

Poems.    With  fine  Portrait.    Boards.    $1.00.    Cloth.  $1.12. 
Astr^a.     Fancy  paper.     25  cents. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  3 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 

Poetical  Works.    In  two  volumes.  IGrao.  Boards.  S2.00. 
Pocket  Edition  of  Poetical  Works.    In  two  volumes. 

$1.75. 
Pocket  Edition  of  Prose  Works  Complete.    In  two 

volumes.     $1.75. 
The  Song  of  Hiawatha.     $1.00. 
Evangeline:  A  Tale  of  Acadie.     75  cents. 
The  Golden  Legend.    A  Poem.    $1.00. 
Hyperion.     A  Romance.    $1.00. 
Outre-Mer.     a  Pilgrimage.    $1.00. 
Kavanagh.     a  Tale.     75  cents. 
The    Courtship   of    Milks   Standish.     1  vol.     16mo. 

75  cents. 
Illustrated  editions  of  Evangeline.  J*oems,  Hyperion, 
The  Golden  Legend,  and  Miles  Standish. 

Charles  Reade. 

Peg  Woffington.     A  Novel.     75  cents. 

Christie  Johnstone.     A  Novel.     75  cents. 

Clouds  and  Sunshine.     A  Novel.     75  cents. 

'Never  too  late  to  mend.'     2  vols.     $1.50. 

White  Lies.     A  Novel.     1  vol.    $1.25. 

Propria  Qu^  Maribus  and  The  Box  Tunnel.     25  cts. 

William  Howitt. 

Land,  Labor,  and  Gold.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

A  Boy's  Adventures  in  Australia.     75  cents. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 

Complete  Poetical  Works.   In  Blue  and  Gold.   2  vols. 

$1.50. 

Poetical  Works.    2  vols.    16mo.    Cloth.    $1.50 
Sir  Launfal.     New  Edition.     25  cents. 
A  Fable  for  Critics.    New  Edition.     50  cents. 
The  Biglow  Papers.    A  New  Edition.     63  cents. 


4         A  lASt  of  Books  Publifhed 
Nathaniel  Hawthorne. 

TvriCK-ToLD  Tales.     Two  volumes.    SI. 50. 

The  Scarlet  Letter.     75  cents. 

The  House  of  the  Seven  Gables.    $1.00. 

The    Snow   Image,  and   other  Tales.     75  cents. 

The  Blithedale  Romance.     75  cents. 

Mosses  from  as  Old  Manse.     2  vols.     SI. 50. 

True  Stories  from  History  and  Biography.    With 

four  fine  Engi-avings.     75  cents. 
A  Wonder-Book  for  Girls  and  Boirs.     With  seven 

fine  Engravings.     75  cents. 
Takglewood  Tales.     Another  "  Wonder-Book."     With 

Engravings.     88  cents. 

Barry  Cornwall. 

English  Songs  and  other  Small  Poems.    $1.00. 
Dramatic  Poems.    Just  published.    SI. 00. 
Essays  and  Tales  in  Prose.     2  vols.    $1.50. 

Charles  Kingsley. 

Two  Years  Ago.     A  New  Novel.    $1.25. 

Amyas  Leigh,     A  Novel      $1.25. 

Glaucus;  or,  the  Wosders  of  the  Shore.     50  cts 

Poetical  Works.     75  cents. 

The  Heroes  ;  or,  Greek  Fairy  Tales.     75  cents. 

Andromeda  and  other  Poems.    50  cents. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  and  his  Time,  &c.    $1.25. 

Coventry  Patmore. 

The  Angel  in  the  House.    Betrothal. 
"        «  "  "  Espousals.     75  cts.  each. 

Charles  Sumner. 

Orations  and  Speeches.     2  vols.    $2.50. 
Recent  Speeches  and  Addresses.    $1.25. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  5 

John  G.   Whittier. 

Pocket  Edition  of  Poetical  Works.    2  vols.    $1  50. 

Old  Portraits  and  Modern  Sketches.     75  cents. 

Margaret  Smith's  Journal.     75  cents. 

Songs  of  Labor,  and  other  Poems.    Boards.    50  cts. 

The  Chapel  of  the  Hermits.     Cloth.     50  cents. 

Literary  Recreations,  &c.     Cloth.     Sl.OO. 

The  Panorama,  and  other  Poems.     Cloth.     50  cents. 


Alexander  Smith. 

A  Life  Drama.     1  vol.     16nio.     50  cents. 

City  Poems.     With  Portrait.     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 


Bayard  Taylor. 


Poems  of  Home  and  Travel.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
Poems  of  the  Orient.     Cloth.     75  cents. 


Edwin  P.  Whipple. 


Essays  and  Reviews.     2  vols.    $2.00. 
Lectures  on  Literature  and  Life.     63  cents. 
Washington  and  the  Revolution.     20  cents. 

George  S.   Hillard. 

Six  Months  in  Italy.     1  vol.     16mo.    Sl.50. 

Dangers  and  Duties  of  the  Mercantile  Profes- 
sion.   25  cents. 

Selections  from  the  Writings  of  Walter  Savage 
Landor.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Robert  Browning. 

Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    S2.00. 
Men  and  Women.     1  vol.    $1.00. 


6         A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed 
Henry  Giles. 

Lectures,  Essays,  &c.     2  vols.    S1.50. 
Discourses  on  Life.     75  cents. 
Illustrations  of  Genius.    Cloth.    Si. 00. 

William  Motherwell. 

Complete  Poetical  Works.    In  Blue  and  Gold.    1  vol. 

75  cents. 
Minstrelsy,  Axc.  and  Mod.     2  vols.    Boards.    Si. 50. 

Capt.  Mayne  Reid. 

The  Plant  Hunters.     With  Plates.     75  cents. 

The  Desert  Home  :  or,  The  Adventures  of  a  Lost 

Family  in  the  Wildekness.     With  fine  Plates.     $1.00. 
The  Boy  Hunters.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The  Young  Voyageurs  :   or.  The  Boy  Hunters  iw 

THE  XoKTH.    With  Plates.    75  cents. 
The  Forest  Exiles.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The  Bush  Boys.    With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The  Young  Yagers.     With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
Ran  Away  to  Sea  :   An  Autobiography  for  Boys. 

With  fine  Plates.     75  cents. 
The   Boy   Tar:    A  Voyage   in  the   Dark.     A  New 

Book.    (In  Press.) 

Goethe. 

Wilhelm    Meister.      Translated    by    CarJyle.     2   vols. 

$2.50. 
Faust.     Translated  by  Hayvard.     75  cents. 
Faust.     Translated  by  Charles  T.  Brooks.     Sl.OO. 
Correspondence  with  a  Child.    Bettini.     (In  Press.) 

Rev.  Charles  Lowell. 

Practical  Sermons.     1  vol.     12mo.    SI. 25. 
Occasional  Sermons.    With  fine  Portrait.    SI. 25. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  7 

Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson. 

Sermons.     First  Series.     $1.00. 

"  Second    "         $1.00. 

"  Third      "        $1.00. 

"  Fourth    "         $1.00.     (In  Press.) 

Lectures  and  Addresses  on  Literary  and  Social 

Topics.    $1.00. 

R.  H.  Stoddard. 

Poems.     Cloth.     63  cents. 

Adventures  in  Fairy  Land.     75  cents. 

Songs  of  Summer.     75  cents. 

George  Lunt. 

Lyric  Poems,  &c.     Cloth.     63  cents. 

Julia.     A  Poem.     50  cents. 

Three  Eras  of  New  England.    $1.00. 

Philip  James  Bailey. 

The  Mystic,  and  other  Poems.    50  cents. 
The  Angel  World,  &c.     50  cents. 
The  Age,  a  Satire.     75  cents. 

Anna  Mary  Howitt. 

An  Art  Student  in  Munich.    $1.25. 
A  School  of  Life.     A  Story.     75  cents. 

Mary  Russell  Mitford. 

Our  Village.     Illustrated.     2  vols.     16mo.     $2.50. 
Atherton,  AND  other  Stories.     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.25. 

Josiah  Phillips  Ouincy. 

Lyteria  :  A  Dramatic  Poem.     50  cents. 
Charicles  :  A  Dramatic  Poem.     50  cents. 


A  USt  of  Books  Publiflied 


Grace  Greenwood. 

Greenwood  Leaves.  1st  &  2(1  Series.     Si. 25  each. 

Poetical  Works.     With  fine  Portrait.     75  cents. 

History  of  My  Pets.  With  six  fine  Engravings.  Scarlet 
cloth.    50  cents. 

Recollections  of  My  Childhood.  With  six  fine  En- 
gravings.    Scarlet  cloth.    50  cents. 

Haps  and  Mishaps  of  a  Tour  in  Europe.    Si. 25. 

Merrie  England.     A  new  Juvenile.     75  cents. 

A  Forest  Tragedy,  and  other  Tales.    SI. 00. 

Stories  and  Legends.     A  new  Juvenile.     75  cents, 

Mrs.  Crosland. 

Lydia  :  A  Woman's  Book.     Cloth.     75  cents. 
English  Tales  and  Sketches.     Cloth.    $1.00. 
Memorable  Women.    Illustrated.    Si. 00. 


Mrs.  Jameson. 

Characteristics  op  Women.  Bhie  and  Gold. 

Loves  of  the  Poets.  " 

Diary  of  an  Ennuyee  " 

Sketches  of  Art,  &c.  " 

Studies  and  Stories.  " 

Italian  Painters.  " 

Mrs.  Mowatt. 

Autobiography  of  an  Actress.    Si. 25. 
Plays.     Arm  and  and  Fashion.     50  cents. 
Mimic  Life.     1  vol.    Si. 25. 
The  Twin  Roses.     1  vol.     75  cents. 


75  cents. 
75  cents. 
75  cents. 
75  cents. 
75  cents. 
75  cents. 


Mrs.   Howe. 

Passion  Flowers.     75  cents. 
Words  for  tuk  Hour.     75  cents. 
The  World's  Own.    50  cents. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  9 

Alice  Cary. 

Poems.     1  vol.     ICmo.     $1.00. 

Clovernook  Children.     With  Plates.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Eliza  B.  Lee. 

Memoir  of  the  Buckminsters.    $1.25. 
Florence,  the  Parish  Orphan.     50  cents. 
Parthenia.     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.00. 

Samuel  Smiles. 

Life  of  George  Stephenson  :   Engineer.    $1.00. 

Blanchard  Jerrold. 

Douglas  Jerrold's  Wit.     75  cents. 

Life  and  Letters  of  Douglas  Jerrold.    $1.00. 

Mrs.  Judson. 

Aldep.brook.     By  Fanny  Forrester.     2  vols.     $1.75. 
The  Kathayan   Slave,  and   Other  Papers.     1  vol. 

63  cents. 
My  Two  Sisters:  a  Sketch  from  Memory.     50  cents. 

Trelawny. 

Recollections  of  Shelley  and  Byron.     75  cents. 


Charles  Sprague. 


Poetical   and  Prose  Writings.     With  fine  Portrait. 

Boards.     75  cents. 


Mrs.  Lawrence. 


Light   on   the   Dark  River  :  or  Memoirs  of  Mrs. 
Hamlin.     1  vol.     16mo.     Cloth.     $L00. 


lo       A  USi  of  Books  Publifhed 
G.  A.  Sala. 

A  Journey  due  North.     Sl-OO. 

Thomas  W.  Parsons. 

Poems.    SI. 00. 

John  G.  Saxe. 

Poems.   With  Portrait.   Boards.   63  cents.    Cloth.    75  cents. 
The  Money  King,  and  other  Poems.     (In  Press.) 

Charles  T.   Brooks. 

German  Lyrics.   Translated.   1vol.    16mo.   Cloth.  Sl.OO. 

Samuel  Bailey. 

Essays  on  the  Formation  of  Opinions  and  the 
Pursuit  of  Truth.     1  vol.    16mo.    $1.00. 

Tom  Brown. 

School  Days  at  Rugby.  By  An  Old  Boy.  1  vol.  16mo. 
$1.00. 

The  Scouring  of  the  White  Horse,  or  the  Long 
VACATION  HoLiDAT  OF  A  LoNDON  Clerk.  By  The  Author 
of  '  School  Days  at  Rugby.'     1  vol.     16mo.     $1.00. 

Leigh  Hunt. 

Poems.     Blue  and  Gold.     2  vols.     $1.50. 

Gerald  Massey. 

Poetical  Works.     Blue  and  Gold.     75  cents. 

C.  W.  Upham. 

John  C.  Fremont's  Life,  Explorations,  &c.  With  Il- 
lustrations.   75  cents. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 

W.  M.  Thackeray. 

Ballads.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Charles  Mackay. 

Poems.     1  vol.     Cloth.    $1.00. 

Henry  A 1  ford. 

Poems.    $1.25. 

Richard   Monckton  Mihies. 

Poems  of  Many  Years.    Boards.     75  cents. 

George  H.  Boker. 

Plays  and  Poems.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

Matthew  Arnold. 

Poems.     75  cents. 

W.  Edmondstoune  Aytoun. 

BoTHWELL.     75  cents. 

Mrs.  Rosa  V.  Johnson. 

Poems.     1  vol.     16mo.    $1.00. 

Henry  T.  Tuckerman. 

Poems.     Cloth.     75  cents. 

William  Mountford. 

Thorpe  :  A  Quiet  English  Town,  and  Human  Life 

THEREIN.      16mO.      $1.00. 


12       A  Lia  of  Books  Publifhed 
James  G.  Percival. 

Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    Blue  and  Gold.    $1.75. 

John   Bowring. 

Matins  and  Vespers.     Blue  and  Gold,     75  cents. 

Yriarte. 

Fables.     Translated  by  G.  H.  Devereux.     63  cents. 

Phoebe  Cary. 

Poems  and  Parodies.     75  cents. 

Paul  H.  Hayne. 

Poems,     1  vol.     16mo.     63  cents. 

Mrs.  A.  C.  Lowell. 

Seed-Grain  for  Thought  and  Discussion.     2  vol.s. 

$1.75. 
Education  of  Girls.     25  cents. 

G.  H.  Lewes. 

Phe  Life  AND  Works  OF  Goethe.   2  vols.   16ino.  $2.50. 

Lieut.  Arnold. 

Dakfield.     a  Novel.    $1.00. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau. 

Walden  :  OR,  Life  IN  the  Woods.   1vol.   16mo.  $1.00. 

Washington  Allston. 

MoNALDi,  A  Tale.     1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Professor  E.  T.  Channing. 

Lectures  on  Oratory  and  Rhetoric.     75  cents. 


by   TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  13 

Dr.  Walter  Channing. 

A  Physician's  Vacation.    Si. 50. 

Mrs.  Horace  Mann. 

A  Physiological  Cookery  Book.     63  cents. 

Arthur  P.  Stanley. 

Life  and  Correspondence  of  Dr.  Arnold.  (In  Press.) 

Christopher  Wordsworth. 

William  Wordsworth's  Biography.    2  vols.    $2.50. 

Henry  Taylor. 

Notes  from  Life.    By  the  Author  of  "Philip  Van  Arte- 
velde."     1  vol.     16mo.     Cloth.     63  cents. 

Hufeland. 

Art  of  Prolonging  Life.     Edited  by  Erasmus  Wilson, 
1  vol.     16mo.     75  cents. 

Henry  Kingsley. 

Recollections  of  Geoffry  Hamlyn.  A  Novel.  $1.25. 

Dr.  John  C.  Warren. 

The  Preservation  of  Health,  &c.    1  vol.    38  cents. 

James  Prior. 

Life  of  Edmund  Burke.     2  vols.    $2.00. 

Joseph  T.  Buckingham. 

Personal  Memoirs  and   Recollections   op   Edito- 
KiAL  Life.     With  Portrait.     2  vols.     16mo.     $1.50. 


14       A  Li§l  of  Books  Publifhed 
Bayle  St.  John. 

Village  Life  in  Egypt.      By  the   Author  of  "  Purple 
Tmts  of  Paris."     2  vols.     16mo.     $1.25. 

Edmund  Quincy. 

Wensley  :  A  Story  without  a  Moral.    75  cents. 

Henry  Morley. 

Palissy  the  Potter.     By  the  Author  of  "  How  to  make 
Home  Unhealthy."     2  vols.    16mo.     $1.50. 

Goldsmith. 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.    Illustrated  Edition.    $3.00. 

C.  A.  Bartol. 

Church  and  Congregation.    $1.00. 

Mrs.  H.  G.  Otis. 

The  Barclays  of  Boston.    1  vol.    12mo.     SI. 25, 

Horace  Mann. 

Thoughts  for  a  Young  Man.    25  cents. 

Addison. 

Sir    Roger    de    Coverley.      From    the    "  Spectator." 
75  ceuts. 

F.  W.  P.  Greenwood. 

Sermons  of  Consolation.    $1.00. 

S.  T.  WalHs. 

Spain,  her  Institutions,  Politics,  and  Public  Men. 

$1.00. 


by    TiCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  Ig 

Theophilus    Parsons. 

A  Mkmoir  of  Chief  Justice  Theophilus  Parsoxs, 
WITH  Notices  of  some  of  his  Contemporaries.  By  his 
Son.     With  Portrait.     1  vol.     12mo.     $1.50. 


Dr.  William  E.  Coale. 

Hints  on  Health.    3d  Edition.     63  cents. 


Lady  Shelley. 


Shelley  Memorials.    From  Authentic  Sources.     1  vol. 

Clotli.    75  cents. 

Lord   DufFerin. 

A  Yacht  Voyage  of  6,000  Miles.    $1.00. 

Fanny  Kemble. 

Poems.     Enlarged  Edition.     $1.00. 

Owen  Meredith. 

Poetical  Works.     Blue  and  Gold.     76  cents. 


Arago. 


Biographies     of     Distinguished    Scientific    Men. 

16mo.     2  vols.     $2.00. 

William    Smith. 

Thorndale,  or  the  Conflict  op  Opinions.    $1.25. 

R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

To  Cuba  and  Back,  a  Vacation  Voyage,  by  the  Author  of 

"  Two  Years  before  the  Mast."    75  cents. 


16       A  Lisa  of  Books  Publiflied. 


The  Life  and  Times  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney.     1  vol. 

16mo.     $1.00. 

Ernest  Carroll,  or  Artist  Life  in  Italy.  1  vol. 
16ino.     88  cents. 

Christmas  Hours.  By  the  Author  of  "  The  Homeward 
Path,"  &c.     1  vol.     16mo.     50  cents. 

Memory  and  Hope.     Cloth.    $2.00. 

Thalatta  ;  A  Book  for  the  Seaside.     75  cents. 

Rejected  Addresses.    A  new  edition.    Cloth.    75  cents. 

Warreniana  ;  a  Companion  to  Rejected  Ad- 
dresses.   63  cents. 

Angel  Voices.     38  cents. 

The  Boston  Book.    $1.25. 

Memoir  of  Robert  Wheaton.    1  vol.    $1.00. 

Labor  and  Love  :  A  Tale  of  English  Life.    50  cts. 

The  Solitary  of  Juan  Fernandez.  By  the  Author 
of  Picciola.    50  cents. 

In  Blue  and  Gold. 

Longfellow's  Poetical  Works.    2  vols.    $1.75. 

do.  Prose  Works.     2  vols.    $1.75. 

Tennyson's  Poetical  Works.     1  vol.    75  cents. 
Whittier's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
Leigh  Hunt's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.50. 
Gerald  Massey's  Poetical  Works.     1  vol.    75  cents. 
Mrs.  Jameson's  Characteristics  of  Women.    75  cts. 

do.  Diary  of  an  Ennuyee.    1  vol.   75  cts. 

do.  Loves  of  the  Poets.    1  vol.    75  cts. 

do.  Sketches  of  Art,  &c.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  Studies  and  Stories.     1  vol.     75  cts. 

do.  Italian  Painters.     1  vol.     75  cents. 

Owen  Meredith's  Poems.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Bowring's  Matins  and  Vespers.     1  vol.     75  cents. 
Lowell's  (J.  Russell)  Poetical  Works.  2  vols.  $1.50 
Percival's  Poetical  Works.     2  vols.    $1.75. 
Motherwell's  Poems.     1  vol.     75  cents. 


3  1205  00555  3274 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

llliiiiillliiiiilliiiii 

A  A         001  433  368  6 


